Kalen
by Durham
Summary: War is coming to Norsca and the dark elf army marches to clash with the pitiful humans. HalfElf Kalen, the cursed druchii Duke, finds himself a pawn in the murderous politics of the Karond Kar spires. The temple of Khaine finds the unworthy Kalen an unlik
1. Chapter 1

**KALEN**

**I**

A warm wind, coming from the north, rippled the water around the boats that crossed the narrow river. The boats were laden with the necessary weapons and armour that were going to be needed on this campaign into the northern lands of Naggaroth. However the wood of the boats also strained under the mass of luxuries that the Druchii officers deemed it necessary to bring on such expeditions.

Dark elf Duke Kalen watched idly from horseback on the far side of the river. It was his job to supervise the crossing of the baggage train over this aquatic step on its road to the main assault. Reconnaissance reports from Shade scouts had confirmed the existence of many humanoid tribes living close to the Chaos wastes. Oblivious to their precarious position between the Druchii and the phantom armies of Chaos, it was too good a natural resource not to tap and Lord Harkan had been tasked with raiding the settlements for their fleshy treasure in slaves.

He'd selected several officers from noble Druchii families and, when no one could be found to take charge of the baggage train, the shunned Duke Kalen of Abyiss had been called forth from his shameful place amongst the shadows of the great halls of Naggarond. He could not decline; after all, he was not likely to receive any other command in the near future.

The reason was because of a night perhaps one hundred years ago or more, when a Druchii Lord had lain with a slave. The slave had miraculously survived the night in the Lord's chambers and bore him a son, though she did not survive that ordeal. The Lord immediately ordered the mutant brat to be poisoned, but the young child drank the sweet poison and happily gurgled for more! Curious, the Lord let the boy live and let him grow. Each day that passed the reluctant father became more and more impressed with the child's abilities.

The time came however when the boy became a youth and his origins could no longer be hidden. His curiosity sated, the Lord ordered the young Elf-human to be murdered as the freak he was. But the Brides of Khaine had taken this boy to be a twisted blessing from the bloody handed god and the darkness of that night kindled a new twist. The boy not only dealt with his would-be assassin but also, in his own 'special' way, released his father from his wretched life. Each night since then had been a struggle for survival amongst the predatory Druchii nobility. The dark elves did not suffer the imperfect…

Kalen, shook himself fully awake, lulled by the percussion of the waters edge. The baggage was nearly all across, it only remained for himself and the small rearguard to cross and follow the trail to where the main army was probably even now relishing in the slaughter of these puny barbarians he'd been told about.

Then he smelt something. Burning…burning flesh…

'Duke Kalen!' an aid shouted from the hill that rose behind him. The dark elf scurried down the hillside, his repeater crossbow slamming against his side as he ran. 'Sir…' he panted.

'What is it, Dalarion?' Kalen spat, already a foul mood had settled over him since the day began.

'Savages, sir! Hundreds of them!' Dalarion waved his gloved hand in the direction of the hill's crest.

Kalen dug his sharp spurs into his steed's sides and it raced up the hill faster than Dalarion had descended it. As the plain came into view, Kalen caught his breath.

Still some distance away but spread out like a dirty mist, were several hundred of these so-called 'barbarians' marching straight towards him. It looked like most of the barbarian army had given Harkan the slip and maneuvered themselves behind the dark elves.

He glanced down at his own force. Two regiments of warriors, one of spear, one of bow, and a handful of light cavalry. Dalarion had made it to the hill top once more, 'We should take the last boats and get across the river, sir.'

Kalen turned to the older dark elf with a frown, 'Do not tell me my duty, soldier.'

Dalarion gulped and tried not to let his eyes wander to the strange ear-lobes Kalen had been disfigured with, 'I'm sorry sir, I only meant-'.

'There is a bolt thrower packed onto one of the boats still on this side of the river. See it's unpacked and set it where we stand.'

'But sir…you mean to fight?'

'That is what our king bids us to do, Dalarion. Kill and be killed. Do you have a problem with that?' Kalen glared at the elf with his blue eyes.

Dalarion straightened and resigned himself to his fate, 'It shall be done, sir.'

Kalen slow trotted his muscular steed down through the long grass to where his troops had been lazing in the warm air but were now gripping their weapons unsurely and looking north towards their doom. He saw Ambran, the young Lordling given the mild command of taking charge of the baggage train guard. Kalen remained in his saddle as Ambran and another warrior came up to him.

'Kalen…' the youth's face was even paler than a Druchii's usual complexion and Kalen smiled, which branded a look of confusion on Ambran's features.

'Your men are not in battle line, Ambran. Why not?' Kalen said calmly.

Ambran stared aghast, 'Sir, there are too many, surely-' his body fidgeted sporadically in comparison to the rock still warrior that stood behind. Kalen gave a glance to the warrior, who was much older than either of his officers, but Kalen appreciated the veteran expertise so obvious in the elf. At least not all of his force were harpy-feed then, he thought.

'I can see how many there is, Serf.' Kalen said to Ambran, 'I will ask you to get your men into battle line; bows between the spears, if you please.'

The lucid words seemed to calm the young officer somewhat, and he nodded before turning back to the front. Kalen caught the older warriors eye before he too followed Ambran, 'Stay close to your Lordling, soldier.' The warrior gave a rough grunt and turned away.

The Herald of the small dark rider squadron trotted up to Kalen. He was cloaked in a smothering grey cape, but Kalen could see the glitter of a host of jewels beneath. Kalen had time to wonder what this man's crime had been to serve penance under Kalen's command before he spoke.

'I recommend that my troops take an easterly route alongside the river until we can find a ford that will allow us to cross.' The lean featured elf said haughtily. He would never have dared speak such to a 'real' dark elf commander, but that was not the case here was it?

'I recommend 'my' troops take their horses out of sight in those scrubs and await my orders.' Kalen said acidly, 'We are not going to run in the face of a few savages.'

The herald sneered, 'With due respect, 'sir', I would advise against attempting to claim some mis-guided honour in the face of these odds.'

'Whom do you suppose will gain Harkan's favour more? Those that stand and die this day or those that run and live? Or his wrath for that matter?'

The Herald knew well of Lord Harkan's displeasure and thought again, he gave a short and stubborn bow in the saddle, 'The enemy closes, sir. I await your orders.'

'Good. Wait until the horde is within charging distance from our front line, release one volley and than hit them in the flank. Is that satisfactory for you, Herald?'

Kalen was glad he could not hear the dark riders inner thoughts as he nodded and spurred his horse back over to the infantry.

Kalen let out a long sigh as he watched Ambran fuss over the battle line. He had done it, they were following the orders of the infamous half-elf noble, albeit reluctantly. He'd deal with the repercussions later, now it was time to do what he did best. Fight.

Dalarion had the bolt thrower set up some distance above and behind the pathetically thin line of blue coated shields. Kalen dismounted and went to the front, donning his helmet and drawing his sword as he did so.

The savages had closed until their ugly, distorted features were visible, screaming unintelligible curses across the plain. Most of them were naked, armed with clubs or crude axes, some even with bloody animal bones. Dark streaks of what looked like blood coated their filthy chests in some parody of war paint. They were hardly a disciplined force, charging forward in a mass of flesh and rage. Their threat lay in their huge numbers.

Kalen glanced along the line of his men. Grim faces set in sleek steel helmets, shield and drannach held forward in a solid phalanx, between each, a crossbow poised to spit. Ambran was close to the middle but still looked nervously towards the oncoming tide of death.

Kalen stepped forward in front of his line, turning his back to the savages and blocking the sight with his body, 'This is what we are going to do!' Kalen shouted above the rising noise from across the plain, 'Bows will wait until the enemy is within twenty paces and then unload their weapons! Bows will retire to the rear and replace any spear that falls!'

'The enemy outnumbers us, but we are Druchii and will prevail!' Kalen said a quiet word of thanks that none of the elves flinched at including himself in this description. 'They are nothing but scum to be cleaned from our blades. We will relieve them of their sullied lives and return to Naggarond in glory! If you fight well today, tonight you will each have two naked witch elves to clean your wounds!' The elves smirked at this and some of them even looked his way.

Kalen raised his sword as the enemy closed. They came screaming across the grass, much faster than he'd expected, bloodlust fuelling their charge. Hundreds of them.

'Make ready….'

**II**

Closed beneath his eyes, it sounded like the coming of distant thunder rumbling down the cragged slopes of the Blackspine Mountains. But as Duke Kalen opened his eyes, the sight he saw was far more fearsome than any Naggaroth storm. A huge horde of frenzying, half-naked humans were stampeding across the plain towards his own thin line of Druchii warriors, intent on ripping their bodies apart and feasting on their flesh.

'Make Ready!' Kalen shouted to his elves. Behind, he heard the thick ropes of the Repeater Bolt Thrower stretch taut behind deadly sharp bolts and all along the line, those warriors without spears leveled their repeater crossbows at the oncoming mass.

There was a moment when the dark elves waited for the humans to come within range. Close enough so that the hail of barbs could hardly miss. Kalen noticed something scurrying in the long grass and watched the unseen animal scramble away from the pounding footfalls of the humans.

The humans were screaming at the tops of their guttural voices now but Kalen blocked out the sound. Instead he concentrated on a warm breeze that touched his skin between his interlocking plates of armour. He waited. The tension was unbearable and he sensed it amongst his line of warriors, especially the nervous ones, which were most of this sub-standard soldiery that he had been given. But he knew he must wait. Every shot must count or they would die.

The human charge was only thirty paces away now, their raging features clearly visible. A little closer. He held the sword aloft, ready to swipe the blade down to signal the flight of the volley of bolts. Once that was done, it would be spears and blades, whilst the group of Dark Riders he had hidden in the nearby scrubs would charge the humans flank. But not until the savages had closed with the dark elves and each elf had fought for his life.

Twenty paces. Bracing himself, Kalen let the sword fall and roared, '_Loose_!'

Sounding like a cacophony of angry wasps, the hazy air was filled with the hissing flight of hundreds of bolts. The front line of the humans visibly flinched as man after man fell prickled with barbs and blood. A longer bolt from the thrower behind the Druchii line skewered three naked humans on a pike that crashed through their chests.

But still they came. More frenzied than ever. The bowmen retired to the rear and the spears locked their shields and prepared for the impact.

Kalen felt the blood surging through his veins, that part of him that was different raging with the cold cruelty of his dark elf heart. When it came the human charge crashed into the line in a torrent of axe blows and shoving bodies. With a roar, Kalen threw his blade down upon a savage, drooling face and watched it split. A stubbled axe rebounded off his armour with no more than a sting and Kalen stabbed and twisted his sword into another twitching body.

Rough, grasping hands clawed at his arms. They tried to force crude knife blades between his armour. Kalen threw off a body with a yell, and drenched his sword blade in red once more. Faces appeared before him spitting curses and bringing down weapons but Kalen parried as best he could in the crush. As more humans pushed from the rear the dark elf line wavered and became a wrestling mass of stabbing and thrusting. Snarling, sweating flesh interlinked with razor steel and slavering blood. Kalen allowed his sword to be ripped away from his hand and instead pulled a wickedly edged knife from his side. He swiped around him, feeling the blade reach and cut into skin, catch on bone and bring forth screams of agony.

Kalen screamed himself in bloodlust as he forced his body deeper into the morass of humans. His armour was shaped into a weapon in itself, each limb edged in sharp spines. He was bleeding, an axe blade had found flesh and he felt the wetness of blood run down the inside of his armour. He held one human before him long enough to slit his throat and allow him to fall.

And then suddenly, he could see the plains again. The backs of humans fleeing desperately back across the ground. He saw a dark rider running down a human, piercing the wriggling body on his lance.

A human slammed into him and Kalen flinched, but the man kept on running past, dropping the short club in the grass. Kalen looked back to his troops. Too many dark elf bodies lay limp in the grass, but it was small compared to the stacks of dead and wounded humans before them. Kalen loosened his helmet and let out a cheer that was gladly taken up by the few troops remaining. They were bloody and wounded, but most grinned with a newfound emotion for their deformed commander.

**III**

Admiral Thorn hated riding these things. The massive bulk of the lizard's back forced his legs wide until he could nestle his ankles into the ornate stirrups. The beast gave a deep, guttural growl, emptying a flood of slimy drool onto the floor of the forest. Thorn cringed and dug in the spurs. The Cold One lurched forward slowly, though its large strides gave good pace as it followed the other riders.

Thorn was used to discomfort. Years at sea on the deck of a Black Ark, prowling through everlasting freezing mist and turbulent dark waters held no misery for him. But these lizards were only ever partly under the command of its rider and the foul slime one had to coat themselves with to even get on their backs without being torn apart did not fill him with anymore confidence.

Still, Lord Poisonblade had bid him to accompany him on this hunt and so endure the touch of these creatures he must. The train of six lizards moved through the undergrowth of the forest with a stealth that belied their bulk. They were following the trail left by ten slaves that had been 'given their freedom' this morning. Of course before their shackles had been undone, each had been cut in the leg with a blade that was coated in a viscous substance that would make the wound bleed for a day or two. It wasn't much, but it was enough for the sensitivities of the Cold Ones to pick up and follow their trail.

The recent rains had set off the smells of the forest, Thorn picked up the spice of herbs, leaves and mushrooms that mingled with the acrid stench of the beast below him. He was unused to the flavour of these dark forests and made a mental note to try and return home more in order to take in these wonderful scents. At sea there were no such smells except that of a hundred Corsairs crammed into the hull of a ship. Hardly exotic.

A diminutive spotter wyvern flew above the riders, appearing alternately between the tall pine tops as it searched the land ahead for the slaves. Thorn imagined the terror that must be running through the veins of their prey, staggering with tired legs through cold streams and stinging bush, wanting to rest but hearing a noise far behind and picking their tired bodies up once more to carry on reluctantly. He hoped they did not simply give up and wait for death to find them.

'Admiral Thorn!' Ulirien Poisonblade called out from the head of the train. The knight in front of Thorn turned his head and looked at him expectantly with sharp eyes. Thorn avoided the gaze as he attempted to get his lizard to somehow speed its pace and catch up with the hunt's leader. The Cold One gave an angry growl when he slammed in the spurs and the sound echoed through the forest. Thorn held the reins fast and the beast quickly gave up the struggle for dominance and quickened its step.

'So glad you could join us.' Poisonblade sang in his dulcet voice. He was in full regal battle armour, only his aquiline features appeared above the smooth carapace. Ulirien's father, Urian Poisonblade, had been a legendary commander, cruelly cut down by a treacherous elf of the cursed kin at the battle of Finuval Plain. A tragedy that only added to the list of grievances that would one day be returned in full to the imposters of Ulthuan. Ulirien planned to settle that reckoning and even in his relative youth was already an accomplished commander in his father's terrible mould.

'It is my pleasure, as always, my Lord.' Thorn said diplomatically whilst trying to keep his unruly mount from veering off their chosen path and into the undergrowth.

Ulirien waved the answer away as he eyed the land ahead with keen eyes. The forest was dissipating like a clasping mist and opened out into a wide valley. 'My request for your presence is two-fold, Admiral.' Thorn already knew this but nodded appreciatively. 'Are you aware of the land of Norsca?'

'Yes my lord. An icy hulk of a land far to the east. It's waters are treacherous but my captains' have navigated it plenty of times in their raids on the Old world continent.'

Ulirien seemed not to hear, he was eyeing the distance again and motioned the riders to mount a stony ledge that wound east of the valley, 'Um? Yes, quite. In any case, we have reports that a force of savages from Kislev, which I believe is nearby, has decided to invade this land. The Norse, as you can imagine, are quite distraught about this, but have never been a force to be reckoned with on land.'

There was a piercing screech from above as the tiny wyvern swooped into the valley. All eyes followed its path and then switched from its leathery flight to the small figure it was bearing down upon. 'I think we have found our quarry good sirs!' Poisonblade shouted cheerfully over his shoulder at the group of knights behind. Thorn's eyes were every good as a veteran Shade, honed from hours of seeking enemy sails amongst the rising waves, but even he had to strain to make out the human struggling through the marsh far ahead.

'The Norse as you know, have been quite amicable to our interests in aiding pillage from Kislev and his highness King Malekith is concerned that this avenue of supply may be closed to us as a result of this action.' Ulirien said as he calmly unclipped a crossbow from his saddle. With a nudge his Cold One slowly climbed atop a flat podium of rock that looked down upon the marsh below. 'We need you to transport a relief force to our inept Norse friends.' Ulirien wasn't even looking at Thorn now, his arrogance tenable as he spoke calmly, 'You will pick up part of Harkan's force via Karond Kar and take them to Norsca. I expect most of them will be simply itching for a fight after Harkan's recent debacle in the north.' A few of the knights behind duly gave short laughs.

Ulirien cocked the Uraithen and stood up in his saddle, the Cold One making a sturdy, motionless firing platform. 'You can take that young queer fish of Harkan's. The talk around the court is that the freak actually administered himself very well. I don't believe it, but it might be amusing to see how he fares having his blood spilled in the snow, yes?'

Thorn watched the Dark elf Lord take aim and then looked at the massive distance to the target, 'My Lord, you surely can't expect to get a killing shot from here?'

The bow lowered slightly and Ulirien looked back with a wry smile as if he had expected such a question all along, 'I don't expect to kill the beast from here, my good Admiral. Only to wound, slow it down. He's moving far too fast for good sport.' He glanced at one of his knights behind Thorn, 'I do so hate it when they don't play fair.' He grinned.

'Even so, my Lord,' Thorn said before he could halt his tongue, 'The distance is too far for the bolt to even reach the beast.'

Ulirien smirked evilly, 'Right or left leg, do you think Admiral?'

Thorn held himself stolid, 'Whichever you think is best, my Lord.' Let the idiot make a fool of himself, he thought angrily.

Ulirien turned back, this time raising the bow into the air, aiming directly at the sky. What, he's going to shoot the wyvern now? Thought Thorn.

Ulirien let loose the bolt and it flew away rapidly, disappearing into the distance. The party watched the human expectantly.

Ulirien was already turning away when the rest saw the slave flinch and fall. 'By Khaine's bloody tears…' Thorn whispered as he watched the human writhe on the ground and struggle to get up.

Lord Ulirien Poisonblade brought the scaly bulk of his Cold One to the head of the valley as it gnashed its brutal jaws together, dripping with the anticipation of tearing flesh. Turning back to the others, Ulirien drew his wickedly edged sword. He grinned, 'Shall we?'

**Louis Verlaine**


	2. Chapter 2

**KALEN (2)**

**IV **

Waves crashed against the sides of the ship even here in the docks of Karond Kar. It was as if the sea was determined to drag the monstrous hulk to a more peaceful place beneath the water. '_The sail of elegant torture_' had docked the day before but the sheer number of slaves confined aboard had meant the work of their corsair captors was not yet done. A simple narrow ramp, rotten and sodden, bridged the gap between ship and dockside. Below a long drop onto shell encrusted crags. The corsairs gave mock encouragement as each slave tentatively made their way across the wobbling bridge trying to keep their balance whilst being buffeted by fierce coastal winds.

'They'd get them out far quicker if they didn't play these games.' Kalen said as he watched from a small harbour tower at the base of the steep bank. The shadows of the tall thin spires of Karon Kar swept over the tower towards the sea's edge like a huge taloned hand.

'Where's your sense of humour, Kalen?' A palm slapped Kalen hard on the shoulder as Duke Kurl Vraneth stepped up beside him in the light of the window. 'You've got to let the pirates have their fun after putting up with the smells of those beasts for so long!' Vraneth was taller and wider than Kalen with a thickly set face and smooth cat-like features. The times Kalen had seen Vraneth in battle had been a savage and stomach churning sight for he revelled in the slaughter and the smell of spilt blood as much as his beloved heavy cavalry did.

Outwardly he was all a Druchii warrior should be, but Kalen had found Vraneth to be a blithesome and boorish elf away from the battlefield. These were traits he was reluctant to hide and perhaps this was the reason that despite many victories, he remained a simple duke. Still, Kalen counted him as a friend, because he was honest and said what he felt, a rare quality amongst Druchii.

Outside on the dock, a female slave, an older woman whose sense of dexterity was perhaps not as keen in her setting years, swayed violently on the bridge. The plank below her bucked further with her struggles as she waved her arms frantically trying to regain balance. Kalen closed his eyes. He felt a deep shame blossom in his stomach. He must watch it. He opened his eyes.

A Corsair was now prodding a long spear in the direction of the struggling woman. They were eager for her to hurry up and die. This entertainment was all well and good, but the elves had homes to return to.

The tip of the spear caught at the woman's tattered clothing and she recoiled back from its sting. Kalen watched her step back into air, pause for a second, before her screech pierced the damp air as she fell. Falling out of Kalens' view, the scream was silenced apart from an ethereal echo that seemed to spice the air like salt. Kalen found his eyes had closed again and quickly opened them before Vraneth noticed.

Vraneth was leaning forward as he bit into a leg of pale bird flesh, his eyes surveying what would be the crushed and broken body of the slave, He swallowed, 'Wouldn't have lasted long in the mines anyway.' He grunted. The elves on the boat dragged another slave from the reluctant crowd that had been herded topside and shoved them onto the still quivering bridge.

'Let's go seek further entertainment!' Vraneth grinned and Kalen followed him from the tower and down the short parapet to the ground and into the city. 'From what I heard you deserve it! Though no doubt that were-bear Harkan is fuming for your heart!' He was referring to the battle three days ago when Kalen's small force of baggage train guards had repelled a barbarian force that despite Lord Harkans' careful plans had managed to elude him and attack the Druchii army from the rear.

'I will get no credit, he should have no fear.' Kalen replied sullenly hating his cross-bred body of elf and human.

Vraneth only smiled, 'That is because you are a freak of nature my friend!' he said nipping Kalen's curiously round ear-lobes, 'You also fight with the rage of a starving Cold one which is the reason your throat hasn't been slit before now! Kill or be killed. I like that kind of motivation and so does King Malekith. Enjoy it whilst it lasts,' Vraneth leaned closer, 'For when the order comes I may have to gut you on my lance myself!' He bellowed laughter though Kalen knew he meant every word.

A young slave, hurrying from a building with a stack of bread collided with the solid figure of Vraneth and fell back into the dirt.

Barrages of perfuse apologies scattered from the slave's mouth even as t boy he scrambled for the bread. Vraneth snatched his dagger from his tunic and stopped the words dead in the slaves' throat. Kalen looked at the boy, perhaps ten years old, it was hard to tell in humans, but he displayed the bravery of a knight as he slowly stood up. He raised his chin minutely for Vraneth's blade to slit the skin.

Vraneth looked at Kalen just as astonished and laughed heartily. Putting away the dagger he asked the boy his name. 'Henri.' The boy stammered as he clutched the mud-stained bread to his chest. 'From Brettonia.'

'Brettonia!' Vraneth spat, 'A land of weakling knights more interested in posing in finery than slitting bellies!'

The boy just nodded. Kalen picked up a loaf that had landed beside a puddle, 'Here boy,' he handed the bread to him, 'Take care to clean it before you take it to Rakarth's kitchens.'

'Now go away before I eat you!' Vraneth barked and the boy ran, leaving Vraneth laughing once more.

The sloping archways to the meeting rooms were like giant ebony fish bones as Kalen and Vraneth entered into the gloom beyond. Away from the screeching winds, the air inside was suffocating. Lit from the corners by steel candelabra's, Kalen could only just make out the huddles of cackling figures hunched over tables in the shadows. He sat in the high backed chairs in one of the few that were vacant. With the newly arrived troops, these rooms would do fine business.

'Wine!' Vraneth barked at a nearby slave, dressed in rags as he scampered around the clientele with dirty feet. A few figures at nearby tables raised their heads momentarily in their direction before leaning back into their conversations. Some stared at Kalen as they carried on talking. Kalen noticed a lithe figure sprout from a table and make her way towards them. She was dressed in the barest clothing despite the draughts that invaded the room. The candlelight flickered on her porcelain white skin, making her bare thigh glow. He felt a surge of blood as the witch elf approached, a heady combination of lust and fear that the brides of Khaine induced even in their kin.

Vraneth noticed her only when she was at his shoulder. He grinned widely, 'Hecate! The mistress of my senses!' Kalen caught his breath, expecting trouble, but the elf merely formed a slight crescent of a smile with her dark lips. 'Join us.' Vraneth motioned to the empty chair beside them and Hecate lowered herself into it. A slave appeared with their wine and placed a thin pitcher of dark red liquid with several goblets on the table. Vraneth immediately poured a healthy amount and drank lustily. Kalen was all too aware of Hecate staring at him, though he dare not meet her gaze.

Vraneth wiped scarlet droplets from his elegant jaw line, 'The nectar of Nagarythe!' he cried. 'I apologise Hecate, this is Duke Ka-'

'I know who he is.' Hecate said smoothly.

Kalen managed a quick glance up into the witch's pearl-like eyes; unable to steel himself sufficiently against the blade he expected to pierce his gut from under the table. 'Who in the temples of almighty Khaine has not heard of the freak, the oddity, the aberrant Duke of Abyiss? Mutated from birth, a portent not yet understood, but strangely immune from Khaine's vicious poisons…'

Kalen was still not sure if this meant he was closer to death now than on the battlefield, but Vraneth broke the chariest mood with a mocking laugh, 'Ha! He is that!' and thumped Kalen on the arm. Kalen gave him a harsh look and turned to Hecate.

'Honoured, m'lady of Khaine.' Kalen nodded and Vraneth sniggered.

Hecate, however, gave him a smile, 'My sisters are intrigued to meet the soldier that pushed Harkan's face in the dirt. He is an oaf that will be on my temple's altar next Death Night.' She said pouring wine with her nimble fingers. Kalen noticed the tips of her sharp fingernails were stained a reddish-brown.

Kalen wondered if he should show gratitude, but kept silent. 'Word has it,' Hecate continued, 'that an Ark is already on its way from Clar Karond to take part of the army on campaign.' she said with tantalising delicacy.

Vraneth spluttered on his wine, 'What? On which field will we spill blood, witch?'

Hecate looked at him with half-lowered lids, 'Calm yourself, Kurl. I'm sure someone will tell you in time.'

'If you know, you would be wise to tell me now.' Vraneth growled.

Kalen watched the two of them warily, 'Will your sisters be at the festivities tonight?' he asked Hecate hoping to break the tension.

'We will, I expect to see you there Kalen.' She stood, downing the wine in one mouthful, 'I need you to be at the central fountain during the final quarter.' She said and left.

Vraneth looked after her scantily clad figure, a look of ruthless lust on his face, 'I know what she needs.' He grumbled.

**V **

Kalen entered the central plaza of Karond Kar, darkness having already long since fallen. Buildings of burnished silver, sprouting like smooth daggers, looked down upon the mass of dark elves that crowded around the huge onyx fountain. Twisting street lamps were ablaze, illuminating the pale faces of warriors and citizens alike as they sounded their mirthless laughter at the spectacles on offer.

Merchants attempted to ply artefacts from excursions into Araby and Cathay onto passers by. Nimble acrobats performed feats of agility on large woven mats whilst hurling sharp throwing knives skilfully at a target. A beastmaster had captured a young griffon in a cage and yelled about its fearsome attributes, perhaps hoping to sell the creature as a guardian to a noble's fortress. The scents of exotic fruit from Lustria and spiced liquids from Nippon blossomed to Kalen's nostrils as he passed by. A harp played by the fingers of a young girl caught his attention, standing proudly in front of her, an elderly Druchii with pale eyes relayed stories of battles on mysterious lands such as the volatile isle of Albion.

As Kalen carried on through the throng, he came to a wide podium surrounded by many frantic spectators. The slave market. Two mighty pyres lit up the bowed heads and scarred shoulders of thirty slaves, their collared necks bound together with a sloping chain that ran from human male to female to child. A thin-limbed slavemaster dressed in a sable robe waved his arms theatrically in the direction of his goods, another slavemaster collected bids from the crowd. Kalen wondered if they were the remnants of the savages he had fought in the northern lands. But he recognised the slave boy he and Vraneth had ran into earlier. He barely recognised him however. Lord Rakarth did not like his bread damp and the boy had paid for the error with his lips. Amongst the firelight, the boy's teeth gleamed in the gaping gash that used to be his mouth, his upper and lower lip cut away.

Kalen tried to remember the boys' name, though he didn't know why. He doubted the boy would live long in any case, wounds such as his were prone to disease and even as he was dragged forward to be perused by the crowd, his thin legs shook. He wondered whether he should bid for the boy and then wiped away the idea. It would look bad if the freak of the Druchii nobles was seeing buying similarly disfigured slaves! Reluctantly, Kalen turned away.

'Duke Kalen.' An elf with the eyes of a daemon appeared before him. Kalen knew who he was. He'd met the like before. An assassin of the Temple of Khaine. Assassins generally preferred to do their work in the private solitude between murderer and victim, but public killings were not uncommon. It seemed as if the assassin preferred the customary option for he offered Kalen an alley in which to walk with him.

Kalen followed. Afraid as he was, a part of him wished to end the nightmare existence he had come to know as life. Constantly in fear of his life and mocked when he wasn't threatened, Kalen had hoped to glean some simple honour by dying on the battlefield. It seemed the world of the Druchii would deny him even this. Some of the crowd muttered amongst themselves as they watched the assassin and the outcast duke disappear between two buildings.

The alley stank of dying vermin and its greasy walls warped inwards as if trying to close the gap on the two figures that walked amongst its shadows. The hooded assassin stopped a few steps ahead of Kalen and turned. Kalen thought he caught something akin to a smile on the master killer's features. 'You are brave to follow me in here, Duke.' His voice was like the rustling of dead leaves, 'Or perhaps just foolish.'

'Get it over with.' Kalen said smartly, 'I assure you though, you will not collect a plentiful bounty from my carcass.'

'The only bounty I would receive from such an act would be Black Lotus through my veins.' The assassin said.

Kalen looked more directly at the elf, 'Then what-?'

'Khaine in his merciless wisdom has plans for you, freak. You are to be spared the death you deserve in order to serve Him.'

Kalen's gratitude was not enthusiastic. 'I'm sure Hecate and her sisters over-estimate my usefulness.'

'Lord Harkan is a traitor to the King and God.' The assassin said smoothly, 'It will serve Khaine greatly should he be 'replaced.'

Kalen did not doubt Harkan's treachery or his favouritism towards the cult of Shornaal, though he did not see the part he could play in the power games between the two Druchii deities. He questioned the assassin.

'You will accompany the army to Norsca, when you reach that land you will be informed further. To tell you too much now might mean you would refuse this simple mission, and that would most certainly jeopardise your safety.' The Assassin glinted a knife in the gloom.

'Granted, but I ask a favour in return from the Temple.'

'Go on.'

'There is a slave boy for sale in the market,' Kalen nodded his head in the direction of the light, 'the Temple will buy him, treat his wounds and keep him safe.'

The assassin grinned, 'I am almost sorry that I will not spend more time in your company Duke; you amuse me.'

'Will you do it? Kalen insisted, careful to keep his voice in check.

'It will be done.' The assassin bent his head, 'Now, there is a side alley some twenty or so paces behind me. Find it and it will lead you out of the plaza. You cannot be seen to leave this alley…unscratched.'

Kalen looked into the pitch darkness wondering if he would be wandering the myriad of alleys till morning. When he turned back to the assassin he had become darkness too.

**VI**

The docks were alive with activity. Kalen tethered his horse to a post, his eyes fixing on a sight out to sea. The titanic hulk of the Black Ark sat some way out from Karond Kar. The vessel could not come any closer due to the vast labyrinthine bulk that drifted beneath the surface, yet even at this distance it was an impressive and horrific sight.

Expansive flat-bottomed boats rested at the sides of the piers; these would transport the Druchii cargo of war to the Ark. Regiments of warriors sat idle on the dockside, weapons and shields stacked amongst the groups whilst they waited their turn to board. Columns of slaves staggered under the weight of cargo, occasionally feeling the sting of a slavemasters' whip to spur on their efforts. Cold Ones roared and thrashed against their chains as they reluctantly stepped clawed pads onto the decks.

Kalen hauled his belongings and armour from his dark steed, and made his way to a nearby boat. A Druchii quartermaster stood at the entrance of one of the docking platforms, a team of stevedore's around him as he fussed over a stack of parchments that blew in the coastal winds. As Kalen reached them, the quartermaster was sneering at his servants, 'If I have sixteen crates of cuirasses here,' he jabbed a gloved finger at the billowing paper, 'then there should be sixteen crates on the ship!'

'Master, there were only fifteen delivered to the dockside.' The stevedore nervously replied.

'I care not!' the quartermaster spat, 'I will spill your guts into the frothy slipstream of that Ark if you don't find me another crate, I warn you!' The Druchii noticed Kalen's presence, 'What do you want?'

'My title is Duke Kalen of Abyiss' he said above the moans of the wind and the creaks of the rocking ships, 'I wish to know the arrangements for my passage to the Ark.'

The quartermaster eyed him suspiciously, 'You don't look like a Duke.' Kalen was attired only in Khaitan and cross belt, even lacking the double swords that would distinguish him as a noble. However it seemed the quartermaster was more wary of Kalen's disfigured features and dark skin than his dress.

'Well, if you would like a quick duel, for quick it would be, you may be more convinced when your insides are swimming alongside your servants in the harbour.' Kalen spoke airily.

The stevedore's gave subtle grins. The quartermaster looked at the young noble with the strange face for a moment and then shuffled through his parchments, 'Duke Kalen…' his eyes roved the sheet, 'The second vessel over there, sir.' The elf said reluctantly, 'The Serpents Kiss regiment.'

Admiral Thorn moved impatiently through the upper antechambers of the Black Ark. The boarding was taking too long as usual, he wanted to sail before the fickle tides of the Sea of Chill became too shallow. Already it was past midday and the night would soon smother the light making travel through the Dire Straits even more perilous.

He entered the candlelit navigation chamber where three sorceresses worked their magic across a bloodstained platter. He watched for a moment as the nubile trio waved their fingers across the oily pool inside the dish. One of them, Sastriss, uncorked a tube of vicious looking liquid and emptied it into the water where it hissed and bubbled. 'Well?' Thorn growled, interrupting their trance-like state.

Sastriss looked at the Ark's commander with eyes like black gems, 'She is nearly satisfied, we may make sail soon.'

'Make sure we do.' Thorn turned away, 'Another thing, we are sitting low, I'll set two Helldrakes loose before us, keep in contact with them and adjust our course accordingly.'

'As you wish Admiral.' Sastriss whispered, the words sounding like a hiss in the echoic room.

It was twilight when the 'Spire of Bitterness' left sight of Karond Kar. Duke Kalen rested on a railing, and watched the frosted walls of Karond Kar fade into the gloom. Corsairs and slaves hurried across the decks, tightening sails with huge turning cogs placed in the hull and swinging from rigging like apes. A corsair, bare chested despite the chill, played a long mournful note on a set of ornate pipes; perhaps an ode to the spirits of the dark waters.

Kalen turned back to the rail, watching as the water far below swirled with movement. A scaly crimson hide sloped from the waves like the back of a gigantic worm. Helldrakes. They had been transported here from the Boiling Sea via the Underworld Sea and now served under the tuition and magic of the Druchii. He caught sight of the head of the beast, a yellow eye, thrice the size of an elf and terrible jaws that skimmed just below the surface. Kalen wondered how tight a leash the Admiral had these monsters on.

'Sir.' The voice belonged to a Reaver who bowed only slightly when Kalen turned. 'Admiral Thorn requests you attend dinner with him in his quarters tonight.'

Kalen could not hide his astonishment, 'Me?' The Reaver gave a sly smirk and Kalen quickly hid his surprise, 'Thank you, and tell the Admiral I would be honoured to attend.'

The Reaver bowed once more and left. Kalen couldn't help but wonder why the Admiral wished to see such a lowly officer as himself. He wondered if this had connections to the assassin he had encountered last night and a feeling of dread itched at his heart. The mighty towers of Karond Kar finally disappeared from view. Beyond the lapping of the water, the corsairs' ghostly tune continued to play as the Helldrakes howled into the mist.

Admiral Thorn's chambers were high in the towers that clung to the stern of the ship. The inner balcony that Kalen hurried along was lushly carpeted and the way lit by ornate candelabras inset into the walls. It could almost be a castle in Har Ganeth he thought. He reminded himself that it was of course once a mighty Keep in Nagarythe before it was torn away by dark magic to save it from the murky depths of the Sea of Chaos. Nevertheless, this Admiral enjoyed his comforts, Kalen thought, as a guard at the doorway to the admirals' cabin saluted and opened the door for him.

Kalen had not had time to dress for the occasion, wearing only what he had boarded with. He realised as he entered the lush splendour of the Admirals gloomy cabin, that this had been a mistake. There were seven officers sat around the long thin table and all of them (with the exception of the witch elf Hecate) were dressed in banquet attire.

'The infamous Duke Kalen.' An officer said nearest to where Kalen stood lingering in the alcove of the doorway.

'The very same.' Hecate grinned standing. She beckoned to the high backed chair opposite. Kalen moved to the chair and sat down. At the head of the table was a grey haired elf with sullen eyes; Kalen guessed this was the Admiral. Indeed, no sooner had Kalen settled than the Admiral fixed him with a glare. His eyes were sharp and yellow in the pits and Kalen was forced to look away.

The officer nearest the door, stood, he was tall with a particular aquiline nose, 'Allow me to introduce the first officer's, Duke.' His tone indicating that Kalen should be regarded as nothing more than a temporary guest, 'Our good Captain, Admiral Thorn,' he gestured to the older Elf at the head of the table, 'the famous Lord Harkan,' Harkan's skin was the colour of fog, his black mane sliced through with a stripe of white. He had ignored Kalen since he entered and did so now, reaching for a goblet of wine instead. 'Hag Hecate, I believe you know since she has kindly told us so much about you.' Hecate didn't look at Kalen either but looked sharply at the officer who moved swiftly on, 'as well as Duke Vraneth, commander of our heavy cavalry.' Vraneth nodded whilst sucking a sliver of white apple from his knife. 'High Reaver Crassfile, commands our Corsair contingent, Herald Firlaith, our light cavalry.' Crassfile was a rough looking elf with a scar across his well-rounded lips and an unusually tanned skin from years on deck. Firlaith however seemed the opposite, slight in body with jutting cheekbones and a serpentine black moustache and beard. 'And myself, Duke Stromlath, second-in-command to our Lord Harkan.'

Kalen bowed as much as he could from the chair, before turning to Admiral Thorn, 'My gratitude for inviting me to your table, Admiral.' Admiral Thorn appeared to be concentrating on peeling some fruit.

Slaves were brought in, landing platters of meat that smelt of delicate spice amongst the already crowded table. Vraneth was the first to plunge his dagger into the cooked flesh with zest.

'So how do you fare our chances against the Kislevites, Kalen?' Herald Firlaith said as he stroked his beard thoughtfully.

Before Kalen could answer, 'The Duke has minimal military experience.' Lord Harkan muttered.

'Yes, it seems quite a riddle why you were assigned here.' Stromlath said chirpily.

'Indeed it is.' Harkan eyed Kalen with suspicion.

Stromlath continued unabated, 'I'm sure there must be a reasonable explanation. Perhaps even one such as yourself deserves a chance to prove themselves, yes?'

'I would die for the Druchii.' Kalen said through clenched teeth.

'Oh, jolly good.' Stromlath dismissed, 'I'm sure we will appreciate it.'

'Kalen has killed for them too' Hecate smiled, 'In abundance.'

Herald Firlaith looked at her and then Kalen, 'So, would you care to contribute an opinion?'

Stromlath spoke instead, 'Kislevites are Men, complete savages without even the meagre glimpse of military strategy as we know it.' He said knowledgeably. 'It shouldn't take us long. Take their charge and then buckle their flanks and cut them to merry ribbons!' He beamed.

Admiral Thorn grunted as he picked a seed from his teeth. Reaver Crassfile looked at his admiral and then to the group, 'I will tell you of the Kislevites.' He said in rough tones, 'They are at home in the ice and snow, by that I mean endless wastes of white landscape such as you have never seen. And yet they are still apt to ambush you. Their horses can lie still as a corpse until the snow covers them and then when your army marches past, they spring like water elementals from the ice with not a trace of slowness. Their lancers harass the flanks whilst their horse backed bowmen pick your men off one at a time. They keep bears as big as a Cold One and frothing dogs which howl into the air and threaten to rip you to pieces should you consider retreat.' Stromlath gulped on a grape. 'Then, when you are at your weakest, then, Duke Stromlath, then comes the charge; warriors, axemen, lancers and animals rush from out of nowhere with just one intention…'

'Wha…What's that?' Stromlath stuttered.

Hecate looked ecstatic at Stromlath's fear, 'You didn't know that Druchii meat is a delicacy in Praag?'

'Surely not! I declare, that's positively 'uncivilised'!' Stromlath cried.

'The 'ears' especially.' Hecate licked her red lips for effect.

'Kalen should be fine then!' Vraneth laughed and Kalen smiled with him.

'Enough!' Lord Harkan barked and silence descended on the table. 'I'm afraid I must take my leave, Admiral.' He said as he stood and walked towards the door with only a twitch of his eyes to Kalen. Stromlath and Firlaith stood, bowed and hurried after him.

'Treacherous cowards.' Hecate said with bitterness.

Vraneth shrugged, 'More for the rest of us.' He leaned over towards Stromlath's plate.

Admiral Thorn looked at Crassfile and gently tipped his head towards the door. The reaver raised himself from the chair and slipped out after Harkan. 'I don't know why you're here either Kalen.' The admiral finally spoke, 'But I warn you, leave it until you are ashore.' He looked at Kalen with yellowing eyes and Kalen nodded although in reality he was in much in shadow as the admiral. Thorn stood and placed a long nailed hand on Kalen's shoulder, 'For what it is worth, good luck.' He growled and left.

Kalen looked over at Hecate who only smiled slyly, 'Look's like the games have begun in earnest.'

'Is there any more chicken?' Vraneth said holding up a gnarled bone.

Kalen woke, the wine stinging in his head from the previous evening. In the small port window he saw shapes running around on the outer decks. He climbed from the makeshift hammock and onto the damp wooden floor of his meagre quarters. Stopping only to throw on a robe and a sword, he pulled back the bolts from the door, already hearing shouts and cries from above.

Once on deck Kalen squinted up into the white cloudy sky to where a corsair was screaming something from the aft mast, pointing out to sea. A warrior shoved him aside, loading an Uraithen with bolts as he ran. Kalen ran to the port side railings.

The waves were thrashing together, surging like the arms of some thick-skinned creature, but amongst the turbulence he spotted something. A sail. Two sails. Then more appeared on the horizon.

'Eagle ships!' the spotter shouted. The Ark prepared for battle. High Elves.


	3. Chapter 3

KALEN

**VII**

Elves fared better on water than on land. Although Elven soldiers could force march rapidly and showed a fighting prowess unmatched by nearly every other race, they were not apt to drawn out marches over rough terrain for they did not take well to discomfort. Furthermore, their natural proficiency bred an arrogance that on the battlefield could prove their undoing.

On the seas however, residing in magnificent hulls that held no such prejudice, the elves became a force unmatched. From the glassy seas of Cathay to the turbulent coasts of the Dark Lands, Elven vessels cruised like imperious fortresses, obliterating any Captain folly enough to try and challenge their dominance. In fact amongst the Elven navy the thinking was that, as perhaps on land, only one battle was worth the fight. Against others of their kind.

Whilst the High Elves, or Asur, sailed aboard streamlined, white panelled cruisers heralded with the buttress of a glorious animal at the helm, their dark kin chose their navy differently. The Dark Elves, or Druchii, sped across the nighttime oceans aboard the backs of titanic beasts, strangled to their bidding by magic. Or else whole armies were transported inside Black Arks; Mountains of stone, wood, iron and sail that was once a forbidding tower in Nagarythe, now a magically floating fortress.

Such a vessel now carried a Dark Elf army on its way to Norsca. Kislevites were spreading North in search of vengeance against the Norse raiders that had pillaged its coastal towns. A mistrustful alliance existed between the Norse and the Druchii, an arrangement that had meant Dark Elf raiders sheltering in Norse ports between ruthless raids on the Old World. Equally, the far-travelled Norse intercepted merchant ships out of Ulthuan in the name of the Witch King. But if the Kislevites subdued the Norse the booty in slaves from the Empire and Brettonnia to the mines of Naggaroth would end. Such was the mission of Lord Harkan and his army, to obliterate the Kislevites invading Norsca.

Amongst his command however was a septic thorn in Harkan's side. Duke Kalen of Abiyss, mutated at birth from the unnatural sanction of Druchii and human and shunned by society, had nevertheless proved himself worthy of a place on the field of slaughter. What worried Harkan however was his close association to the Kainites. The Sisters of Khaine had favoured the half-elf fool as an omen of the ascension over the hated Cult of Shornaal (known as Slaanesh to some) of which Harkan was an avid benefactor. They had given him a purpose on this mission, he was sure, and the Dark Elf Lord would not rest till the freak had been extinguished.

An arrowhead the size of a horse's skull crashed through the walls of the Black Ark, sending splintered debris across the inner deck. Duke Kalen flinched as he was peppered with shards and hurried down the steps to the battery deck. A low ceiling ran the length of the chamber above stooped figures that toiled half naked in the fire-lit gloom. A line of crude torches lined the walls, their flames an eerie green that flickered off wood and stone. The only natural light came through the line of artillery scuttles, the cold morning sun highlighting the glint of the steel bolt-throwers. The tips of waves sent rivers of water over the scuttle openings and sloshed amidst the scurrying feet of elves and men. There were seven bolt throwers aligned from the deck, their points facing outward towards where the scavenging High Elf ships skimmed across the water. The raiders had come speedily and taken the Ark by surprise.

A Dark Elf Corsair was barking orders in the human tongue to the slaves that grappled with ropes and pulleys. With a loud snap of air, the incredible tension in the ropes of the Bolt-Thrower was released and the heavy bolt flew from view. Without care for its accuracy, the slaves immediately began manoeuvring another bolt suspended upon ropes into place.

Kalen called out to the corsair, who turned his head impatiently and made his way over the dirty backs of slaves towards him. The elf's hair was matted with sweat and clung to his pale face, 'Sir?' he almost snarled.

'Anything I can do?' Kalen asked.

The corsair didn't need time to consider, 'Regulate the firing on the far section, if you would, sir.' Kalen nodded but the Corsair had already turned his back and was shouting angry words of encouragement to the slaves. Kalen bent low between sweating bodies as he made his way through the firing deck. The smell of noxious smoke, tar and hemp filled his nostrils and already his eyes stung. Another bolt from the High Elf ships struck the side of the ark, making the reinforcing wales shake.

Kalen made it to a scuttle, looking out briefly at the white shape of a High Elf hull rising on the waters and then signalled to a gang of bleary-eyed slaves to coat the tip of the bolt in hot tar. He grabbed a torch from its perch and touched the wriggling flame to the sizzling broad head. It flared, the stench adding to the miasma amongst the battery crew and some slaves choked and staggered back. Kalen roughly kicked them aside, 'Loose!' he shouted.

With a crack the slip-hook was released and the ropes skimmed across the shallow pools of water lining the deck. The bolt seemed to fly like a diving falcon, its fiery head, blowing crazily in the wind. Kalen watched its path towards the High Elf vessel. For a moment it looked like the bolt would miss, but a fateful wave raised the ship into the flight path again. The main mast cracked on impact and the flames greedily devoured the white sails. Kalen grinned as the burning wreckage of the mast dropped flaming like flares on the sailors below.

The muffled cry of triumph from the battery deck was premature however. The rest of the flotilla of High Elf ships, using their sails and excellent seamanship to hold themselves steady in the winds, manoeuvred alongside the Ark. Several impacts could be heard all along the outer hull of the battery deck. Kalen looked out, seeing long silver chains connecting the Ark to the attackers ships. At first he thought the High Elves might be foolish enough to attempt to shimmy up them in order to board the Ark, but then as one the High Elves adjusted their rudders into the wind. Their main sails filled with wind and the tension on the chains suddenly tightened. Kalen realised with horror what was about to happen and backed off hurriedly.

The outer hull of the battery deck began to strain, groaning like a wounded beast and filling the cramped deck with ominous sounds. Then a cracking sound. The slaves began to mutter and make towards the ladders. Suddenly an entire section of the hull was ripped away, exposing the innards of the Ark to the sea winds. The roar from the wind sucked away Kalen's breath and his face was flicked with salt water making him blind for a moment. When he managed to blink away the sting, an Eagle ship was firing a bolt. Too late did he realise the bolt was crowned in fire.

The bolt sped through the open wound of the ship and against an inner wall, exploding flaming oil across elf and man alike. The oil clung to the skin, burning and crisping flesh. Kalen was forced back to the edge, clutching air to clean his lungs as the High Elves prepared to fire again. Looking out of the huge hole in the side of the Ark, Kalen saw a sea-drake hissing below him. It thrashed in the waters as the moorings it was tied to began to burn. More burning arrows rained down, driving the Beastmaster's back and the sea-drake broke loose, its massive skull splitting the hull of the Ark in its fury.

The impact threw Kalen forward and for a moment, only sea and smoke filled his vision as he fell from the ship. His arms flailing, he caught hold of a chain that had swung loose and held on, swinging in the winds. He looked back at the battery deck, hoping to swing himself across to it, but his movement only caught the sea-drakes eye below him. The creature reared up from the water, its yellowing jaws open and its salty maw stinking around him. Kalen lifted his knees up to his chest as the teeth of the beast snapped at air. But those huge yellow eyes focused on this tangling morsel above it and it reared again.

**VIII**

Hurriedly, Kalen began to climb upwards, away from the monster and towards the upper deck, his face whipped by winds and his body slapped by cold water. As the stinking jaws of the Helldrake snapped at him again, visions of the witch elf Hecate and Lord Harkan flashed into his mind. About his destiny, about this 'mission' he was being sent on and whether he was merely a sacrifice in the intrigue of the Druchii. Perhaps, he thought, it would be best if he died in the belly of the sea beast. Several corsairs watched his efforts with curiosity until the familiar figure of Kurl Vraneth barked at them and they began to help reel in the half-elf Duke.

Kalen was dragged aboard like a wounded fish, his arms aching and his body still recovering from the wine the night before. 'Welcome aboard, Kalen!' Vraneth grinned jovially, 'Bloody silly time to start swinging from the rigging!' Kalen watched Vraneth's lips move between the plates of his helmet but understood little. Two Corsairs bundled him roughly against a mast and took up their weapons again as Vraneth formed them into some kind of order.

A Black Ark was able to sustain massive amounts of damage and still stay afloat due in part to the Dark tendrils of magic that riddled its body. The ship was lower in the water and some of the decks had been flooded, drowning those trapped there, but the repairs would have to wait. A High Elf boarding party was about to attack. Duke Vraneth, his muscular frame clad in the sinuous armour of a Cold One commander had taken charge of a regiment of Corsairs and scattered Druchii warriors and prepared to repel the attack.

As the packed High Elf assault crafts skimmed towards them, Vraneth smiled at the thought of the upcoming bloodshed. 'Stand ready you dogs!' He shouted over the wind as the Corsairs growled, blades and axes at their sides. On the back of a huge wave, the assault crafts slammed into the side of the Ark, the Sea-Guards aboard climbing the hull with supreme agility. The Eagle ships continued to fire their volleys of bolts across the Arks decks until the Seaguard were near to the top.

The High Elf Seaguard were armed with short swords and gauntlets, the better for fighting in the close quarters of a ship's deck. In a practiced movement they swung themselves over the top of the deck rail. With a snarl of hatred the Corsairs were upon them, the tall figure of Vraneth leading them into the fray. Vraneth barged into the delicate figure of a High Elf, knocking him over board, whilst twisting to challenge the downward arc of a Seaguard blade.

Kalen watched the struggle for a few moments before realising he had lost his sword, possibly in the gullet of the sea drake he thought bitterly. A strange feeling was overcoming him as he watched a petulant High Elf slice through the belly of a Corsair. An emotion from deep within, a sense of hate for these raiders, an unnatural, burning hatred. He felt it combine with the natural aggression latent in the side of him that was human. He wanted to kill these High Elves. More than that, he wanted to destroy them. The Corsair dropped to the deck, the slim hand-axe slipping from his dead grasp and sliding across to Kalen's feet. He looked at the weapon and then up at the victorious High Elf who had noticed him. The Elf looked at him, momentarily thoughtful of Kalen's strange features and then snarled as he charged.

Kalen dropped to his knee quickly, grasping the axe and rising to meet the charge. The High Elf lashed out with his blade, but missed, chipping the wooden mast instead. With a swing fuelled entirely with odium, Kalen lopped off the limb holding the sword. The High Elf made a high pitched squeal like a culled pig before Kalen turned the axe blade around and fastened it deeply in the Seaguard's breast. He let the body fall with the weapon still buried in it and took the sword still gripped by the Elves' amputated arm.

The Seaguard were gaining ground due to their numbers. Some Druchii warriors had hurried to the far side of the forecastle, but hesitated firing into the fighting with their uraithen. Kalen saw Vraneth for a moment, forcing the neck of a High Elf across a deck rail until it snapped. Then another opponent challenged Kalen, a High Elf with deep green eyes and smooth skin, immature but determined. The Elf stabbed at the Half-Elf Duke but Kalen caught the blow easily and drove his sword up and underneath the young Elf's helmet. As his fist was soaked in blood he saw the emeralds in the Elvish eyes fade.

A torrid flow of anger and hate was blossoming inside Kalen, the familiar desire to kill or be killed. He cared not which. He moved amongst the clashing figures of Seaguard and Corsair, lashing out with deadly blows, occasionally dodging a blade long enough to drive home the red, soiled High Elf sword. He shouted out to these traitors of the Elven race to come and be killed, to compete their mithril armour against his Half-Elf flesh. The challenge was taken by a hugely tall High Elf in grandiose armour of silver and dragon scales. He levelled his sleek sword against Kalen's ruddy blade, teasing it with a few strikes. Kalen had no time for this game, and pushed the Elves sword angrily aside, stepping forward closer. The High Elf skilfully dodged Kalen's blow and slithered his own blade along Kalen's arm, sprouting a stream of blood. The Elf smirked at Kalen's pain and prepared to deliver the killing blow. He was surprised when Kalen's elbow connected with his face, cracking the bones of his elegant nose. A curling kick left the High Elf unbalanced and Kalen dragged his blade powerfully across the Elf's throat. The High Elf staggered backwards, his hand vainly trying to stop the torrent of pulsing blood from his torn neck. Kalen snarled and pulled the Elf back to him only to force his sword deep between the plates of the Elf's cuirass.

With their champion lost, the Sea-Guard began to back away from the slavering Corsair fury. As the last Seaguard leapt into the swirling waters rather than be skewered by a Corsair, there was a raging shout from the Druchii. Vraneth's blood-flecked face appeared in Kalen's vision as he slapped him hard on the back and pointed gleefully out to sea where the Helldrakes were pulling apart the frantic Seaguard before they drowned. Kalen tried to show the same enthusiasm but if he was honest with himself the feeling of hate that had overcome him when seeing the High Elves had shook him somewhat. He was used to the rage that fuelled creatures in battle; he even enjoyed it. It helped to disguise the dangerous risks he took to impress his true Druchii commanders or die in the attempt. But this feeling was different. Perhaps he was more Dark Elf than he realised?

He had no time to ponder however because a Corsair that had been jeering with his crewmates was pole axed as a long arrow ploughed through his shoulder and pinned him to the deck. They looked up to see five eagles swirling in and out of the tall masts, on the back of each of the huge winged creatures was the figure of a rider. Another arrow fell vertically, the unusual firing angle giving it the impetus to punch through a Corsairs Sea-Dragon cloak. The elves scattered, finding what cover they could. The warriors had found a target and fired their uraithen upwards but the eagles easily avoided them.

The Black Ark was on full alert, Dark Elves were racing to their stations, hurriedly trying to tie armour to their sleeves. Commanders shouted at them to repel borders as the High Elf ships continued to pound burning arrows into the Ark. Swivelling Sky Reapers were manned and salvos of bolts sliced through the sea air like bloodthirsty harpies.

From within the brutal looking command tower Admiral Thorn was relaying orders to the sorceress Sastriss. Or rather he was demanding that his orders be met. 'Move the damn ship! We're a sitting target for their fire bolts here, we need movement!' The Black Ark was afloat but the coils of dark magic seemed to be fully used up doing just that. Thorn dismissed the sorceress, telling her that if the hulk didn't clear at least ten leagues soon it wouldn't matter because they would all be dead.

Lord Harkan stood a small distance away looking down upon the besieged deck. He had seen Kalen and Vraneth repulse the Seaguard assault. He had hoped that the noisome duo would have been killed in the action but their fighting prowess had thwarted that vengeful wish. But Kalen's time would come, he must be patient. The cursed High Elves soared to and fro on their eagles, keeping the Corsairs and warriors cowering as another Seaguard assault made ready. His thoughts were distracted for a moment as Thorn threatened torture to his crew once again. Out of a grudging respect he had not interfered with the Admirals orders, the cold Northern waters were his battlefield, but it seemed fire must be met with fire. 'Admiral,' he said calmly. Thorn gave him an angry look but Harkan ignored it, 'with your blessing I would like to send Stromlath and his manticore against these flying pests.' Thorn grunted an acceptance and Harkan sent an aide to inform Duke Stromlath, Harkan's second-in-command. Harkan turned back to the fighting, watching idly as elf killed elf before requesting some wine from another aide.

It was just as another arrow shunted down into the deck that an unearthly roar was heard over the heads of the crouching Dark Elves. A shadow passed overhead and Kalen looked up to see the bulk of a manticore, fibrous wings outstretched and deadly paw-like talons slashing at the air. A cry went up from some of the Corsairs who had seen these fearsome beasts often in battle and knew their capacity for slaughter. The eagles veered away from the animal quickly and seemed to be in retreat. Duke Stromlath, nestled aboard the manticore's saddle, waved his sword in the air in a show of bravado that was not lost on the warriors below.

Vranath looked pleased but muttered to Kalen, 'All well and good, but the fool never gets his boots soaked in red.'

'Perhaps today he may have to.' Kalen replied squinting up to the sky. A flock of three eagles were rallying, their riders steeling themselves against the sight of the manticore and swooping back towards the Ark. Stromlath had not seen them and though the manticore growled at the sight, Stromlath seemed intent on making another victory pass between the masts of the ships. Before the eyes of his despairing comrades, the first arrow struck the Duke in the shoulder, causing him to jerk in the saddle. The manticore made efforts to narrow the distance between itself and the eagles, but they were able to evade its claws and another two arrows imbedded themselves in the wounded Stromlath. His body slid from the saddle and Kalen and Vraneth watched its fall until it splashed into the dark waters below.

Hearts sank around the ship, not for Stromlath who was seen as an irksome character by most of the crew but because now they were without protection from the arrows of the Eagle Riders who could pick them off at leisure. The manticore, perhaps confused as to the location of its rider, had landed and perched on the bow side cathead, roaring at the sky.

Vraneth shouted curses towards the circling eagles as he crouched beside Kalen, but it was as effective as the fire from the Sky-Reapers. The agile eagles evaded the salvos easily. Meanwhile the Asur were making ready to mount another assault.

'We need to get rid of those birds.' Kalen growled, looking towards where the manticore sat. He didn't hear Vraneth curse him for his obvious statement because he was running across the deck towards the monster. The manticore swivelled its massive head in his direction as he came close. Its scarlet eyes appraised this new interest, its jaws twitching. Steady, Kalen thought, summoning up bravery to take the next step towards it. The beast sensed fear and immediately began to growl.

Just as Kalen thought the beast was about to leap upon him and tear his body into pieces, an arrow from above scythed down into the deck taking a slice of his cloak with it. Fear combined with bravery and he ran towards the beast as its rider might have done, hoping that the manticore would recognise his panic as confidence. The manticore snapped at him, but the yellow teeth were aimed at air and perhaps the bite was bore out of confusion than anything else. Kalen barked an elvish word angrily at it. Finally the manticore seemed to relent to his feigned authority. He gripped the pommel mounted on the saddle, feeling the monster's coarse mane hair and swung himself onto the manticore's back.

The manticore began to buck and move unsurely along the deck and Kalen realised that if his assuredness with the beast waned just once he would be torn to shreds. He pushed the thoughts from his mind, shouted at the animal and pulled back on its mane as he had seen Stromlath do on occasions. In reward the long, leathery wings extended either side of him and the manticore crouched, readying itself for flight.

Kalen had to grip tightly as the manticore sprung forward and swooped downward towards the sea, gaining momentum for the upward lift. He had not the armoured boots that connected with the saddles stirrups, and though the saddle held his upper body in place, his legs began to drag behind him. He gritted his teeth, gripping onto the pommel and the hair of the beast in a frantic struggle to stay upright. There was no way he'd be able to fight with the High Elf sword that flapped against his side and as the Asur Eagle-riders closed to meet their new adversary, Kalen cursed his eagerness to risk all for the Druchii.

The manticore leaned into a dive and the air rushed into Kalen's lungs. He saw the Black Ark below, the Asur ships, the fires, the toiling water. And an eagle. From the corner of his eye he saw the High Elf ride his beast into an intercept. The eagle itself must have been brave to take on a manticore, but its rider knew that the elf that now clung to the manticore's back was no trained 'flyer'. Kalen struggled to free his blade from its sheath, as he caught sight of the High Elf smoothly drawing his.

The Elf closed in on Kalen; keeping the angle sharp enough to avoid the talons of the manticore and Kalen knew not how to turn the beast. He stood up in the saddle, the ferocious winds howling in his ears and drew his sword just as the elf swooped past aiming a blade for his head. He managed to block the blow, but the force of it tore the sword from his grip and with disdain he watched it disappear into the sea. The Eagle Rider turned for another pass.

Kalen spotted another eagle below him and to his right. This rider was concentrating on firing arrows down onto the deck of the Ark. Kalen leant sharply, pulling the pommel with him and the manticore seemed to understand and sunk into a sharp dive. The other eagle gave chase. The manticore sped towards the archer letting out a terrifying howl. Kalen saw the High elf archer look up in surprise. The large body of the manticore snapped at the eagle as it passed it, the long wings of the eagle flapping madly as it tried to get out of the way. Kalen raised the head of the manticore as it gathered speed, and soared up and between the tall masts of the ark.

As the manticore weaved its own way through the rigging and sails, Kalen looked over his shoulder. His impulsive plan seemed to have worked. One Eagle Rider was tailing him through the sails of the Ark, whilst the other was stalking more slowly on the starboard side. As the manticore hurtled around an armoured tower, the eagle behind Kalen climbed to avoid the series of Druchii Sky-Reaper batteries and it meant he was hidden from view for a moment. He used the time to lean to his left, and the manticore angled its wings to turn. When it reappeared, the eagle was moving too fast and it whizzed by Kalen as the manticore moved out over the sea and back towards the other Eagle Rider.

Kalen thought fast. He forced his beast to ascend up and to the right of the Eagle Rider who was even now stretching his bowstring back for a shot. Kalen knew his other pursuant was somewhere behind and up to his right but he couldn't afford to look back to check. The manticore was slowing from its exertions, making him an easier target. In front and to his left, the High Elf took aim with his bow. He heard a screech from behind him as the other eagle closed in. The High Elf archer released his arrow.

It seemed to happen fast in the confusing swirl of winds and sea-spray. Kalen knew only that he had to lie flat at the right moment. The arrow that was aimed at his chest would fly over him and there was a chance…

Crouched tightly against the manticores' back, Kalen spat out some of the mane he had got caught between his lips. He still grinned though. An Eagle was someway back behind him, on its back an elf with an arrow protruding from his neck. He looked up to see that confusion had overcome the other rider. Obviously killing one of his own had shocked his delicate High Elf sensibilities, thought Kalen bitterly. That confusion would mean his death however. The High Elf saw the opening jaws of the manticore too late. The eagle zoomed into Kalens' vision too fast, and with a thump and crunch the manticore had caught hold of the eagle in its fangs. Its paws came up, raking down the side of the bird and tearing off the High Elf's leg as it did so. The elf screamed and toppled into the surf on a rope of blood. Kalen lost his own balance as like a dog with a bone, the manticore began shaking the life from the eagle.

It wasn't a long fall, but the coldness of the sea still pinned his heart like the arrow he had narrowly avoided. Swimming to the surface, he caught sight of a bloodied eagle's wing, as big as an elf, tumbling from the sky. The rest of the Eagle Riders were breaking into retreat, a sorceress had been spared by Thorn and her voluminous blasts were dissuading the Asur from another attack. Cries caught Kalen's ears and he looked up to the deck of the Ark where some Corsairs were cheering him, some even recalling his name. Vraneth was there too, grinning like a dragon. Treading water a little way out, Kalen grinned back.

Admiral Thorn leaned back, a look of relief on his face as he watched the accursed High Elves in retreat. It had been a close one. With the Ark sitting in the water the Asur raiders could have launched attacks at them all day. Luckily the troops had bought him enough time to repair the initial damages. And one trooper in particular had stood out. Thorn went to the bridgehead rail where Lord Harkan looked out over the deck. Below them, Duke Kalen was being hauled aboard to the accompaniment of much cheering. Thorn smiled to himself; a charismatic leader was important to soldiers, someone who would risk something extra could lead soldiers almost anywhere. Even though he was some kind of genetic misfit, this Kalen fellow fitted the bill, and the troops would see past that as long as he continued to impress them as such.

'With Stromlath dead, you'll be needing a new second in command, Lord Harkan. Perhaps our young freak has won your confidence?' Thorn sneered at the impassive profile of the army's general. It was a chance to goad Harkan which Thorn was loath to pass up, but he got no reply. Thorn shrugged and returned inside the command tower.

Lord Harkan watched Kalen in silence. This mutant half-elf was clever. Not cleverer than a true Elf, but still clever… He would enjoy the challenge. But he would enjoy watching Kalen die even more.

The Ark sailed onwards into the cold waters, towards ice, and Norsca.

Louis Verlaine 


	4. Chapter 4

KALEN

**IX**

Only an imperceptible shade of greyness separated the sky from the ground. A series of snow-laden hills sloped into the lowlands. A few trees struggled to raise their thin fingers above the deep white drifts and even these were skeletal and long dead.

Such was the land of Norsca.

As Dark Elf Duke Kalen looked out into the wilderness from the coastal Norse settlement, he could understand why the Norse had never mastered land warfare. Inland of this place there was nothing to look to but vast drifts of snow and the forbidding realms of the Chaos Gods. Kalen shivered and wrapped his cloak more tightly around him.

The Dark Elves were here because of geography. Norsca, although an inhospitable wilderness, was directly north of the lands of Men. For sea-faring raiders such as the Norse, it was an ideal location from which to launch raids into the Sea of Claws and beyond. As for retribution, who would want to risk the treacherous ice-flows and freezing temperatures only to fight the Norscans on their home ground? The Norse were without battlefield tactics as Kalen knew them, but they more than made up for that in their bloody minded determination and love of slaughter.

Which made them perfect allies of the Witch King Malekith. The Druchii had made a pact with these men of the north, securing their raiding prowess in return for the loot they could steal from Elven merchants travelling from Ulthuan. It also provided the Druchii with hidden strike bases in the coves of the Norscan peninsula, where Dark Elf ships would lie in wait for the ships of the Empire to leave port. However, the men of Kislev planned to bring an end to this gold-trimmed arrangement. Even now they marched north of Erengrad to burn and pacify the villages of the Norse. The Norse homeland had never been attacked over land and they pleaded aid from their elven allies. The Druchii had come, albeit reluctantly, and with half an eye on reaping a substantial payment from the Norse afterwards.

So the army was here. And so was Kalen. Though as he stood in the deep snow and the whispering winds, he suspected his purpose here was somewhat different from that of the army's. Kalen had been created from a freak accident of nature, the conception of elf and human. His confused mother had died trying to bear him and his father, the former Duke of Abyiss, tried to murder the infant with poison, hoping to watch those wriggling limbs shiver as the venom took hold. But the child was bizarrely immune to even the most toxic substances the Hags prepared and the Temple of Khaine pronounced the mutant child a portent of the fall of the Asur and the reclamation of Ulthuan.

After his fathers' death, Kalen had inherited the title but none of the privileges. He was shunned at court, existing merely because the brides of Khaine were curious about him, though that didn't stop several attempts on his life and Kalen had become quite apt at avoiding death. But in a way he would welcome death, he felt alone amidst a people he didn't belong to. He desired to prove himself worthy of their praise on the battlefield, risking his life where other Druchii might hesitate, and yet he was strangely ashamed when he did.

And now he had been sent here by the word of an assassin and a witch elf. All he knew was that it had something to do with Lord Harkan, the army's general, and despiser of the Temple of Khaine. Even the drippings of gossip that reached Kalen's ears informed him that the general was sympathetic to the cult of Slaanesh. Now the Khainites had decided their reluctant prodigal son was to play a part in the secret war between Khaine and Shornaal.

Kalen watched a pure white snow owl skim across the flat sheet of snow, its flight silent and its wings held taut. His fear was that Harkan would know more about the Khainites plans than he did (which was scant) and decide to strike first. The snow owl suddenly dived into the snow, pulling away from the ground a second later with the pierced body of a rodent between its claws.

Kalen turned at the sound of crunching snow behind him. Duke Vraneth was making his way unsteadily to the top of the slope where Kalen stood, his boots sinking deep into the ground. Behind him the small town of the Norse huddled together, each thatched roof arcing a tendril of black smoke into the white sky. Fires had been lit outside too and in the eerie light of the northern afternoon, several Norse and Druchii warriors spared against each other.

'May I enquire what you're doing up here?' Vraneth cursed as he pulled another step against the snow, 'Looking out for Kislevites?' Vraneth was the closest Kalen had to a friend, but this was perhaps more because Vraneth cared little for the company he kept. He reached the top with an easy if slightly wicked grin on his face. His brow was beaded in sweat and his lip was bleeding.

'How's the training going?' Kalen asked nodding towards where a dark elf lieutenant was trying to prise a gang of Norse away from beating each other to a pulp.

'Not well. I'm a cavalry officer so what can I teach? Those primitives eat their mounts!' Vraneth laughed pressing his finger against the blood on his lip, 'But there is strength behind their ungainly moves, if not finesse.'

'Perhaps 'finesse' isn't a trait the Norse can learn.' Kalen said.

'Surely not! After all, we taught _you_ to fight didn't we?' Vraneth flashed his ice white teeth.

Kalen ignored him. He saw Lord Harkan emerge from his hut a little way across what was ambitiously called the 'town square'. The general stood, cloaked in a sea-dragon cloak watching the troops drill, Herald Firlaith, commander of the light cavalry, stood behind him. Vraneth followed Kalen's eyes, 'We better start looking as if we can turn this mob into a fighting force.' Vraneth growled.

The two officers retraced their steps back down to where the troops were drilling. There were only a handful of Druchii warriors teaching the Norse. The rest preferring to stay in their makeshift barracks rather than demean themselves. Two Dark Riders watched idly from horseback, the horses' breath clouding their black forelocks. Lieutenant Ambran was attempting to take charge of the proceedings. Ambran was a young elf, whom Kalen favoured because he was as still naïve enough to respect him. Ambran even saluted as Kalen approached.

The large crowd of Norsemen looked at the dark elves with barely restrained contempt. They were proud warriors and though appreciated the necessity of the Druchii army's presence, it was obviously a bitter pill for them to swallow. They were familiar with the basic tongue of man so Kalen used the plain language.

With Harkan's eyes on him, Kalen stood between about a hundred Norse and seven dark elves. 'On the battlefield, the most important formation is the shield-wall!' He gestured to the few Druchii warriors and they brought their long shields up as a demonstration. 'The shield wall is an infantryman's most effective weapon against cavalry.' The dark elves overlapped their shields and bowed their drannach's over and between the recesses of the shields. The wickedly curved blades had been muffled with cloth to both prevent frost weakening the metal and to avoid unnecessary 'accidents' between the troops during drill.

'The warrior relies on the shield to his right to protect his flank whilst he thrusts his weapon and covers the man to his left with his own shield.' Kalen illustrated. The heavy brows of the Norse merely glared at him. 'You, bring the steed!' Kalen shouted to one of the Dark Riders. The cavalryman hesitated and then slowly trotted the grunting horse forward.

When the rider was positioned in front of the short shield wall Kalen continued, 'When attacked by cavalry, you'll be tempted to go for the rider because he'll be jabbing at you with a lance or spear. Don't. The cavalry will usually run down the front of the wall after an initial impact and even if you do manage a accurate swipe at the rider, you'll be committing yourself to a counter strike.' Kalen made to lunge over the wall with a drannach and the rider satisfactorily brought his own spear to press against Kalen's neck.

'Remember he has the advantage of height. So take that advantage away. A cavalryman is only a cavalryman because he has a mount. If you target the mount-' Kalen thrust the spear towards the chest of the horse which stepped back hurriedly, '-the rider falls and he can be dragged between the shields and his throat slit.' The rider paled but some of the Norsemen, who traditionally hated cavalry, smirked amongst themselves.

Just then a huge Norseman stepped forward, his body covered in armour and fur and his long hair and beard masking his dirty face, 'What about a challenge?' He growled sliding out a gleaming broadsword from its scabbard. Lieutenant Ambran looked nervously from the warrior to Kalen who stepped out from behind the shields.

'Hand to hand?' Kalen hated challenges on the battlefield; they were the ultimate mark of ego in his opinion. Fighting should be about killing not necessarily about looking good while one did so. He had not drawn his own sword and was wearing no armour, but the Norse still wavered the massive blade in front of him. 'What's your name, Norseman?' Kalen asked.

The smile on the warriors face fell and he raised himself up a little, 'Ulgrath Machtheitersonn.' He boomed

'The Norse love of syllables…' Vraneth tossed his eyes.

'Okay, Ulgrath, please, show me your talents.' Kalen said smoothly. He didn't want to fight the Norseman but it would be necessary if he were to get the co-operation of the rest of the tribe. Kalen drew his sword, which looked frighteningly fragile in comparison to Ulgrath's thick edged blade.

Ulgrath charged forward with a cry, swinging his sword in a move that Kalen had expected and he easily avoided it. However once to the side of him, Ulgrath brought his elbow into Kalen's ribs and pushed himself away from danger. The Norseman had a speed that belied his bulk. Ulgrath swept his sword downwards and Kalen met the swing with his blade, the noise of scraping metal grating across the snowy silence. Twice more their blades parried before Ulgrath used his strength behind his blade to force Kalen to lose his footing. Quickly, Kalen swung the sword underarm but Ulgrath blocked it, twisted his blade against the haft and forced Kalen's sword away from his hand. The dark elf's sword clanged against the shield wall and fell to the ground. He looked up at the Norse who immediately looked for the adulation of his fellow tribesmen. They cheered their encouragement.

It was all Kalen needed. Bringing his foot sharply up into Ulgrath's groin, the warrior bent forward in pain long enough for Kalen to drive a fist into his throat. As the Norseman staggered, trying to bring his heavy sword to bear, Kalen pulled a still sheathed dagger from his cloak. Closing the sheath around the back of the man's knee, he pulled with both hands and the leg immediately gave way. Kalen was on top of the larger man as soon as he fell, quickly unsheathing the blade and holding it before Ulgrath's stunned eyes.

'Never forget,' he called out to the rest of the Norse who had gone suddenly quiet, 'hand to hand combat is exactly that. You use anything you can.' He looked down again at Ulgrath, smiled and sawed off a lock of blonde hair before releasing him.

'Duke Kalen!' The voice that shattered the atmosphere belonged to Harkan. Kalen sheathed his dagger again and picked up his sword, nodding to Ambran to carry on.

'Excellent sport!' Vraneth relished as Kalen passed him.

Lord Harkan did not look so pleased. 'My Lord.' Kalen said bowing and catching the eye of Firlaith.

'Not quite the practice promoted in Naggarond's training dungeons, do you not think?' Said Harkan.

'No sir.' Kalen said without meeting his eyes, 'I thought it prudent to teach them such techniques that would compliment their obvious savage nature.'

Harkan considered this, 'Well perhaps you are right. Then they should learn from one who is master of such behaviour! Carry on, Duke.' He turned away before turning back catching Kalen in mid-bow, 'I will be discussing the strategy for the coming campaign at dusk tonight, please attend once you have finished with your 'friends'.'

'My Lord.' Kalen acknowledged watching Harkan's back intensely.

**X**

The night came quickly in this part of the world and the temperature dropped with similar rapidity. By that time most of the dark elf garrison were inside and crowded round the hearths they had 'appropriated' from the townspeople. Lonely soldiers on punishment duty took shifts at guarding the perimeter. They clutched their drannachs to themselves and shivered as they heard howling in the darkness, never sure whether it was the wind or wolves.

Inside the Norse chiefs hut, a large room had been set-aside for Harkan and his officers to construct their plans. The chief himself, an old and corpulent man named Narsanor, sat beside the fire and listened in confusion at the poetic elvish tongues, noting when his name was dropped into the conversation. Lord Harkan planted his arms either side of the map Admiral Thorn had given him. It was basically a record of the shoreline and coastal towns for nothing inland was of any note. However Harkan assumed the Kislevites would tie themselves to this coastline on their march north. He had not explained to the others why he thought this was the case, but the officers knew well enough not to question such judgements.

Though Stromlath had died on the journey here, Harkan had not nominated a second-in-command. Druchii tradition deemed it necessary for the elf to be an infantry or heavy cavalry officer, Kalen or Vraneth respectively, but Harkan had purposely refrained from mentioning such matters. Firlaith, the wily commander of the Dark Riders, had taken the opportunity to follow Harkan whenever he could and 'advising' him on the Lord's good judgement. He stood at Harkan's side at the top of the table, backing up his theories with ones of a very similar nature and content.

'Somewhere to the north east of our position is a bridge that has been built to cross this inland river here.' Harkan jabbed a gloved finger approximately five leagues up the coast, 'It is my intention to cross this bridge and make a pre-emptive strike on the Kislevites as they cross this regions of foothills.'

Firlaith seemed to look intensely at the blank area, 'Splendid, my Lord. Yes, splendid…'

Kalen stood at the far end of the table. Even from here he could tell the map was next to useless. He looked over at Vraneth, but the muscular elf was glaring moodily into his goblet of wine. Hecate was here too. It was the first time Kalen had seen her since Karond Kar; the Brides of Khaine preferring to keep themselves apart from the main army and had only recently come ashore from the Ark. Her black hair was held back by a comb, inscribed with skulls and her face was pale and without blemish. She eyed Harkan with her sharp silver-coloured eyes. They flicked to Kalen and he realised he was staring and looked away quickly.

'A regiment of Corsairs and some of Narsanor's 'lesser' warriors will remain here to garrison the town. I think we can safely assume the Kislevites will have little in the way of artillery so the Bolt throwers may remain here also.'

Firlaith was the only officer nodding, but Harkan had hardly looked up.

'Do we know when the enemy left Erengrad?' Kalen heard himself say. Harkan looked up sharply, '_My Lord_.' Kalen finished.

Harkan murmured something to the Norse chief who seemed to be slumbering. He woke and said that a messenger had reported that an army had left Kislev for Erengard six days ago. Given that the human army would be re-supplied in Erengard it was possible that Harkan could be correct about the location of the Kislevites thought Kalen. However it would depend on how far along the coast the Kislev general strung out his marching army. This point stung his thoughts, 'Will our march be covered by a cavalry screen?'

'Not mine.' Vraneth groaned. His beloved Cold Ones had not reacted well to the temperature and seemed even more sluggish than usual.

'If I may my lord,' Firlaith soothed, 'I will string out my riders close to the coast where the ground is better and cover our flank.'

Kalen interrupted him, 'But surely the sea will do that task just as well? And what about our other flank? If the humans attack from the interior whilst we are on the march-'

Firlaith let out a yelp of laughter, 'I think you give too much credence to _your_ savage cousins Duke Kalen! Their horses will be as indolent as ours in this snow!' He said as if pointing out the obvious.

'If we can conclude,' Harkan growled, 'we march at reasonable light tomorrow, I expect the Serpents Kiss regiment to form a vanguard.' This was Kalen's regiment. First into the ice cold fire, he thought. Though it was as close a confession of auxiliary command as he was likely to get. He noticed Firlaith chewing his lip.

At this point two Norse women entered with bowls of food. Placing the two large bowls in the centre of the table, the dark elves glared at their contents. Narsanor perked up and rambled a few words as he ladled some of the stuff into a clay bowl. 'Apparently they call this gruel, 'Goat Soup'.' Hecate said enjoying the look of disgust on the faces of the others.

Vraneth shipped some of the grey mixture into his bowl, 'Well if it tastes as bad as it sounds, we'll all be homesick by the morrow.'

Kalen's appetite was suddenly quelled, 'If you'll excuse me, my Lord.' He stood, 'Got to review the sentries.'

The chill of the wind stung his face as he budged the rugged door aside and stepped into the snow. The sky was clear, with a scattering of stardust peppering the dark heavens. Guided by his lantern,Kalen trudged along a path worn in the snow towards the barracks.

Sheltering between two huts was a crowd of human slaves. They wore rags but had managed to procure themselves a dirty woollen sheet and five of them were attempted to warm themselves under it. Kalen looked at them; they would be dead by morning. As usual he made a conscious effort to ignore their plight. However, looking around him, there were no Druchii in sight. Across the alley was a stable door. He went to it, laid the lantern in the snow and prised his dagger against the lock. The rusting metal broke. Pulling the door open he motioned to the slaves to enter. They looked at him with incomprehension. He shouted once and it seemed to force them into action. The pathetic huddle crossed the alley; some of them in bare feet and entered the comparative warmth of the stable. Kalen shut the door after them, hoping the stable didn't hold the army's Cold Ones.

Walking onwards,he saw his killers. In the freezing temperatures, their breaths were visible, rising from their hiding place behind one of the wagon carts. Obviously they hadn't learnt the trick of placing snow in the mouth in order to mask this, Kalen thought and made ready. He passed the wagons nonchalantly, but his mind was racing. However he had no time to wonder whom his attackers might be or from whose leash they had been released because several figures stepped out of the darkness.

There were three. One behind, one at his side and one in front. They were Norse. Kalen recognised Ulgrath's bulk even before he spoke. 'Dark Elf!' Ulgrath grunted as a greeting, his gloved hand around a hefty looking mace.

Kalen didn't reply, he dropped the lantern and drew his sword. By the light of the small flame he looked anxiously to his side where the other Norsemen were approaching. However as he had guessed, they were going to leave it to Ulgrath to dish out the punishment first. Ulgrath had obviously not learnt from today's lesson because once more he charged clumsily at Kalen. And again Kalen dodged the charge easily, this time stroking his blade along Ulgrath's abdomen. He heard the Norseman grunt in pain, but the larger warrior was quickly at the ready once more. The other two attackers took their cue and surrounded the dark elf.

They circled him. Kalen held the blade out, keeping the Norse at bay. However, he could not cover them all and eventually one of the warriors saw a gap. The mace came down on Kalen's shoulder. Fortunately the ferocity of the man's swing had made him slip in the snow and the head of the mace did not shatter bone, though Kalen reflexively dropped his sword. The other two closed on him fast.

Through a haze of pain, Kalen saw the mace descending down on him. Quickly he reached to meet it, catching the baton with both arms, stopping its cruel impetus towards his skull. But as he struggled with his attacker, he could do nothing about the other two. In the flickering firelight from his fallen lamp, the other Norseman smirked through snow-flecked whiskers. But beyond them Kalen caught sight of a shadow moving across the white ground.

The Norse warriors scream became a gurgle as his throat was slashed from behind. The other warriors had no time to react as this fur clad figure moved between them silently. Kalen managed to grapple the mace from his attacker, stunned as he was by the ferocity of the strangers attack. Kalen could only watch as his now weapon-less opponent curled himself around the crooked dagger of the stranger. Only Ulgrath was left. He staggered backwards a stunned look in his eye, his will to fight seemingly forgotten.

Kalen realised why when the stranger, pulled back the heavy hood of animal skin to reveal grey eyes and ruby lips. Hecate. The Witch Elf approached Ulgrath; even in the dim firelight and coat she seemed to have something of the seductress about her. It was not surprising Ulgrath was enthralled. The Norse women tended to be stout, flat-faced creatures and certainly had no tendency towards the art of fighting. It was easy for Hecate to give Ulgrath a short nick on the cheek with her dagger. He stepped back again but did not raise his weapon.

Hecate ignored him now and turned to Kalen, 'You'll have to do better than that if you want to see Abyiss again.'

'You were watching?'

She shrugged, 'I thought about leaving you, but I couldn't see them kill you. Even if you are a half-elf.' Behind her Ulgrath had fallen to the ground and begun to twitch violently.

Kalen was dusting the snow from his body, 'Your generosity knows no bounds, lady.'

'Come.' She took his arm, somehow hiding the dagger she had been holding. They left Ulgrath to die and walked to the edge of a small clearing, put aside by the villages to grow meagre crops in the summer months. It was covered in frost and snow and Hecate walked to its stonewall border before turning to face him. Away from the alley, the two half-moons shone side by side like vibrant, slit eyes. The light leant some lustre to Hecate's face; she seemed to be studying him.

'Appraising your experiment, my lady?' Kalen said and then regretted it. Although he was frustrated with the unseen plans that were going on around him, he could not bring himself to dislike the witch elf. It was not her beauty (for allowing oneself to desire a Maibd was a sure path to the bloody altar) but the fact that he remembered the witches being there in his torturous youth. He could not clearly recall much of the events, only the pain and fear as his father had tried to murder him. No doubt the witches tried too, but once they found he was immune to their harshest potions they treated him with curiosity. In the desperation of a child longing for love, he had perhaps come to see the beauty of the witches as mother figures. It was mistaken, he now knew that, but still he could not shake it and thus there was always an affinity he felt with the temple of the Bloody Handed god.

'Despite you nearly getting yourself killed by a group of Norse bears, its going as expected.' She said.

'Maybe if you told me more I would be better able to satisfy such expectations.'

Hecate breathed in the icy chill, 'I doubt it.'

'Why do you keep me alive, Hecate?' Kalen asked her plainly. 'You could get any noble to spy on Harkan.'

Hecate paused for a moment, her pearl eyes glowing like a cats' in firelight. 'You will do as we demand and afterwards who knows, you may be faced with your reckoning.' But something in the way she said this made Kalen think.

'What else?'

Hecate turned to leave, 'Don't flatter yourself, Duke. You're twisted body is not worth it.' She tried to go past Kalen back into the village. Kalen grabbed her roughly and pushed her to the ground. His frustration over-ruling his judgement at handling a witch in such a way. He pressed his bulk over hers as their bodies pushed into the snow, their faces only a fragment apart.

'Do you know what its like having to live like _this_?' Kalen hissed between his teeth. Hecate stared up at him not with fear but perhaps surprised at his strength. 'I will die and I'll die for you and your blessed Khaine, but even a freak like me needs a reason!'

'You may be immune to the poisons, but not the blade, Kalen.' Hecate whispered and Kalen indeed felt the witches knifepoint against his stomach.

Kalen didn't flinch, '_Do it then_. Murder me. I beg you.'

'Such drama!' Hecate laughed but the sound was hollow.

'Your choice, witch.' Kalen kept his eyes locked on hers, the mist of their breath dancing together in the air between them.

The snow began to fall softly around them. Some flakes melted on Kalen's neck but he hardly felt them. Hecate spoke quietly, 'You are to kill Harkan and take his place. That's all I can tell you.'

Kalen had suspected that the temple of Khaine wanted Harkan dead but he didn't understand why his demise would have to be by Kalen's hand. 'The troops will never accept it.' He said.

'Harkan has sympathisers, but only amongst the nobles, the troops will be with you once you have my backing. We are hoping that if someone like you kills him then it may force other Slaanesh sympathisers out in protest. There will then be a cull.'

'Why Harkan?'

Hecate was silent for a moment, 'Harkan is planning an uprising.'

A civil war. Perhaps another Sundering. Kalen thought about it with dread. 'How far does this go?'

'That's something I don't know and don't want to. Neither should you. Play your part Kalen and you'll survive, otherwise tell me now and I'll happily grant your wish.' Kalen became aware of the knife again. He slowly got up and helped Hecate to her feet. She went to leave, but paused by his round lobed ear, 'This never happened Duke. Like you said, we can find others to do this. Breathe a word and I will kill you.' She sneered and walked away into the shadows.

Kalen watched her go. The snow fell on the icy ground around him. He would freeze to death if he stayed out much longer. Only with reluctance did he return inside.

Louis Verlaine 


	5. Chapter 5

**KALEN**

**XI**

Eraivell Nightheart had been a rider in the Dark Elf light cavalry for almost fifty years. Though his family back in Ghrond were not of a noble lineage, his prowess of killing on the battlefield had gained him substantial stature belying his common birth and his military experience was extensive. He had ridden down stragglers after the might of the Witch Kings armies had trounced their discipline. He had slaughtered the hated Asur in woodland ambushes. He had crushed squealing Skaven beneath the sharpened hooves of his steed. In short, Eraivell was not used to running in the face of the enemy.

However, it seemed to come reluctantly well as his Ellyrionian steed charged through the deep snows of Norsca. Far behind, he left his companions bleeding in the freezing winds. Not so far behind were their murderers. As Eraivell twisted in his saddle, chancing a look back, a group of riders appeared over a slope, loose snow exploding around their flanks as they pursued the dark elf.

The humans had come across them at camp, whilst Eraivell and his small scouting party had been waiting out a blizzard in the nape of a hill. It was to the humans' commendation that they had evaded the elves acute hearing until the last moment. Suddenly riders with visored helmets on thick steeds were amongst them, skewering his comrades, erupting screams and blood on snow. Eraivell had reacted faster than the rest, knowing he was outnumbered, he had clambered on his horse and made his escape.

Now, six lancers chased a lone rider across the stark landscape. Eraivell dug his spurs into the sides of his steed and it snorted angrily but increased its efforts. Eraivell had to warn the main column. The Kislevites were here.

Duke Kalen of Abyiss sat high in his saddle, surveying the desolate wilderness he and the dark elf army were marching into. He looked down on the valley where a snow covered bridge reached across a thick river of ice. He had been given the command of the vanguard of the army by Lord Harkan and his objective was to reach this bridge. It was thought that the Kislev army must cross it in order to reach the Norscan lands they wished to conquer.

The sun had broken over the crown of the northern mountains shortly after they had left the Norscan town that they were using as a base. Now, through gaps in the cloud, the light reflected brightly on the snow giving a fresh feeling to the morning. Kalen, however, was in a foul mood. The previous night, the witch elf Hecate had told him of his purpose here in the land of ice. He was to kill the army's general, Lord Harkan and take his place. Harkan's sympathies with the Chaos pleasure-cult of Shornaal were too dangerous and he might be attempting to overthrow the temple of Khaine.

There was no love lost between Kalen and the lord, for Harkan despised Kalen simply for adulterating the Druchii nobility with the freakish presence of a Half-elf. But perhaps there was another reason. Kalen had lain awake wondering how much Harkan knew of this plot and that perhaps the previous nights attack in the village alleyways had not been random. Kalen had thought at the time that it was because the Norscan Ulgrath had been made to look incompetent by him, but what if Harkan had sent them?

Kalen pushed the thoughts away urging his horse down through the blanket of snow to the flatlands that led to the bridge. Besides, even if he managed to murder Harkan he doubted the soldiers would accept a half-elf mutant as their new general!

A regiment of such warriors trudged past him, some had taken off their helmets and cloth caps in order to harvest what warmth the morning rays brought. Their faces scowled at the upstart mutant Duke and perhaps cursed Kalen for leading them into this frozen desolation. Many slaves had frozen to death the night before and the carts were next to useless in the snow, so the warriors had to carry most of the baggage on their backs.

Some soldiers, having reached the bridge were collecting in crowds, unsure whether to bivouac here or not. Kalen was similarly nonplussed. He had expected the riders he had sent ahead to have returned by now and he was reluctant to pin the army on the other side of the bridge before he was sure of the land ahead. As he rode slowly towards the bridge he spotted Lieutenant Ambran standing on the stone crossing and the young elf gave him a friendly nod as he approached.

'A fine morning, sir.' Ambran said cheerfully.

'A morning that will bring death beneath its sunshine, no doubt.' Kalen grunted.

Ambran grinned, missing the pessimism in the words, 'Many a fine killing will be made before we are back warm in our barracks!'

'Is the bridge safe to cross?'

'Yes sir, though I'd hesitate to recommend more than half a regiment cross it at once.' Ambran placed a gloved hand on the damp wooden railing. 'Still, fine architecture for such primitive people. Do you wonder if the Norse built it?'

'What about the ice? Is it thick enough?'

'Erm, we're just finding out, sir.' Ambran pointed to two spearmen who were tentatively jabbing at the ice with the blunt ends of their spears. 'If we had some slaves we could perhaps-'

Kalen pointed to the skyline on the far side of the river, 'What's that?'

A black clad figure could easily be made out against the white incline. 'Its one of our riders!' Ambran cried out and motioned to several elves to follow him across the bridge.

'Hold!' Kalen shouted. The rider was returning alone after setting out with a squadron of eight. A second later others appeared above the crest of the hill. But these were not Druchii. 'Uraithen!' Kalen shouted behind him to where some warriors, startled, hastily formed themselves into line. The column of the vanguard was still making its way down the nearside slopes, but there were enough warriors here to make a defensive position on the narrow bridge. Kalen brought his steed forward as the crossbowmen crouched either side of the bridges walk way and made ready. The dark rider was still some distance away but his pursuers had already slowed at the sight of the dark elf army. Kalen counted five riders with lances. It would be suicidal of them to charge the bridge and without bows he doubted they could stop the rider reaching his comrades.

The Kislevites slowed to a halt and satisfied themselves with glaring banefully as their quarry reached the bridge. The horse was slavered in sweat and blood as it clattered over the walkway, narrowly avoiding the crossbowmen who shrunk back against the rails. After scattering soldiers in all directions, Ambran grasped hold of its dangling reins and restrained the beast. Its rider however was dead.

By the time the entire vanguard had reached the plateau, Kalen had sent out small groups of Shades to reconnaissance the land on the other side of the bridge. The Dark rider had died of an arrow wound to the spine and he was laid on the snow before Kalen and Ambran.

'How long do you think he's been dead?' Kalen said looking on the body of the rider without compassion.

Ambran considered, 'Well, the wound has stopped bleeding. But maybe with the cold-' he shrugged, 'why does it matter?'

Kalen looked up at the slope, now devoid of enemy cavalry, 'Because those humans were carrying lances.'

Ambran looked puzzled. He followed Kalens' gaze towards the hills. He looked back at his commander, 'I'm sorry, sir. I fail to see the significance.'

'Why would they pursue a dead elf on a horse, if not to discover where the horse was running to?' Kalen answered. The steeds taken from Ellyrion were beasts of high intelligence, their sense of direction usually allowing them to return to their masters even in unremarkable lands such as this.

Ambran realised the significance, 'Then the enemy will be upon us!'

Kalen nodded silently, stepping over the corpse towards where a group of warriors sat on their shields, huddling inside their cloaks. Their drannachs were planted upright in the snow. 'Lieutenant, what was his name?'

It took a moment to realise Kalen was referring to the dead Dark rider. 'I'm not sure sir. I would advise consulting Herald Firlaith.'

'And he would know?' Kalen smiled laconically. 'Make sure he's burnt.' He ordered, watching the last of the vanguard column arrive on the plain. Several auxiliary carts carrying food and weapons were struggling in the snow. Pulled by drowsy Cold-Ones, the ponderous reptiles still had enough vigour to snap out at soldiers attempting to pry the cartwheels from the drifts. The remainder of the army's reptiles were still in quarters in the Norse village, stubbornly refusing to galvanize in the cold temperature, much to Duke Vranath's chagrin.

Kalen walked over to where two warriors were still prodding the frozen river tenuously. He recognised their faces as two elves that were on punishment duty the night before. They turned sharply when he spoke, 'So now we know the ice is thick enough to hold aloft the tip of a drannach, what about the weight of an elf?' Kalen said with sarcasm. One of the warriors was broad, nearly as broad as Kalen's half-elf frame and even in the cold wore only a short sleeved tunic, he held the dranaach with long, blunt fingers. The other was taller and wore his mail but his hair was long and unkempt, perhaps attempting to hide the bruises on his face. 'What are your names, soldiers?'

'Avaris.' Said the bruised elf.

'Rath.' Grunted the armed elf.

'Sir.' Kalen prompted them.

'Sir.' They both said, almost sneering and meeting Kalen's eyes.

'May I enquire as to your crime?'

Avaris spoke first, 'It was nothing, sir. We had a slight altercation over some rations. A Quartermaster tried to claim it was his, it wasn't, and Rath-' He nodded to his expressionless comrade, 'made sure we got it back. He didn't like that, so we were put on punishment duty.'

'And you'll be ritually executed when we return to Naggaroth.' Kalen watched Avaris' face twitch. 'I'm guessing you gave this quartermaster a taste of Karond Kar hospitality?' Kalen smiled, which surprised them. Avaris looked at Rath nervously, but said nothing. Kalen looked over their shoulder at the frozen river. 'Stand on that ice.'

'Sorry, sir?'

'You're still mine till they lop your cretinous head off, so get on that ice soldier!' Kalen barked suddenly.

Avaris turned slowly and dangled one foot over the edge of the river. He placed one boot on the slick surface and it seemed to hold. The elf relaxed, placing his other foot down on the surface. The ice cracked sharply and Avaris plunged into the freezing black water beneath. 'Don't just stand there, pull him out!' Kalen ordered Rath, whose strong arms wrapped around Avaris' flailing upper body and pulled him ashore. Both elves ended up flat on their backs on the riverbank.

'Well done.' Kalen looked down at the pair, 'For risking your unworthy lives in the duty to your king, you are both hereby released from retributive sentence.'

Avaris and Rath looked up at him blankly. Some water dribbled from Avaris' mouth.

Kalen met Ambran on his way back to the camp, 'Those two elves,' Kalen nodded to Avaris and Rath who were picking themselves up from the bank, 'will join our regiment.' Ambran's eyes flicked to them and back again, 'As you say sir. Herald Firlaith has arrived from the main column.'

'Why haven't you crossed the bridge?' Firlaith demanded once the two officers were out of earshot of the troops. Not for the first time, Kalen had the urge to take Firlaith's greasy scalp and connect it with a rock. Hard.

'Your dark rider squadron came back dead. I've seen human riders on the hilltop myself. If we cross that bridge out of formation they'll come in and cut us to ribbons.'

Firlaith sighed, scratching at his beard as if he was dealing with a child, 'Lord Harkan wishes-'

'Damn Harkan!' Kalen exploded, 'He isn't here and if we cross that bridge they'll pounce.'

'Watch your words, _half-elf_.' Firlaith hissed, 'In your absence this morning, Lord Harkan has named me as his new second in command.' He said the words lusciously, 'Make your troops ready to cross the bridge, Duke.'

Kalen was silent. What could he say? He knew it was folly but if he protested anymore Firlaith would take ecstatic delight in relieving him from duty. 'As you wish.' He relented.

'And Kalen,' Firlaith called him back, 'I'll allow you the honour of accompanying the first regiment across.'

Kalen turned his back on him, his eyes looking for a rock.

**XII**

With horns blowing and banners flying, the Dark Elf vanguard prepared to cross the bridge. Three regiments of warriors followed by Firlaith's cavalry would cross and form up on the other side before advancing. As ordered, Kalen had joined the regiment that would be first to cross: The Serpents Kiss.

He left his horse with the baggage train and when Ambran asked him why he said it was because they were simply making camp on the other side of the bridge. But Kalen never took his eyes from the hills. He had already decided that should the Kislevites be waiting on the other side of those hills, his entire force would form a protective square around the entrance to the bridge and punish the enemy with Uraithen bolts while they formed an orderly retreat to a more defensible position on the other side. He expected cavalry and they would easily be picked off in ones or two's as they followed the dark elves over the bridge.

However that plan became increasingly unlikely as Firlaith, mounted with his riders at the rear urged the force further from the bridge, planning to take the hill itself and camp on the other side. It was a sound plan if proper reconnaissance had been carried out, but until they reached the hilltop it was dangerous in the extreme.

It was the sound of a horn, breaking through the valleys stillness, which signalled the arrival of that danger. The noise was followed by twenty riders appearing over the crest of the hill before the dark elf column. Their horses cantered down the slope whilst the riders unslung bows from their shoulders. Kalen called a halt to the column, 'Square!' he shouted shoving the nearest elf warrior against his comrade, 'Get into square!'

The squadron of horse-archers split into two parties as they reached the base of the valley, each circling around the Druchii. The dark elves were calmly moving into formation, uraithen in the front, drannachs behind with Firlaith's riders to the rear. Kalen pushed inside the square recognising Avaris and Rath standing solidly with their spears.

The humans closed in a decreasing circle, their small horses padded with fur and buckles as were their bearded riders. Kalen guessed the range of both armies' bows were approximately the same and even though the riders had speed on their side they could not close further without being peppered with bolts. Nevertheless, an arrow shot with surprising agility from horseback caught a spearman in the chest and he fell back crying out in surprise. 'Mark your targets! Single shot! Loose!' Kalen ordered and from the three sides of the square crossbows bolts began skimming across the snow. A Kislevite was plucked from his horse as a bolt buried itself in his ribs. The man struggled to his feet as his pony galloped away only to be struck with several more bolts.

Other riders had appeared on the hill. As Kalen shaded his eyes in the sun, he guessed they were lancers, though many more than he had seen earlier. There were also several chariot contraptions, though they seemed to be pulled by large dogs. But as long as the dark elves held their firing lines, the cavalry could not close. Another arrow whistled through the ranks of dark elves and was answered with a harsh volley of bolts. Firlaith's dark riders began to pan out in the rear of the square, preparing to launch an attack on the horse-archers. Sensing their strategy, the archers turned and began to canter back to the slope of the hill, some of their riders firing arrows that landed short of the elves.

The warriors around Kalen jeered and shouted insults; beside him Avaris barged into the front rank of the square only to question the fidelity of the humans' mothers. Lieutenant Ambran asked the elf politely to return to rank.

Once the archers had ridden out of range of the crossbows they turned and seemed to be waiting for a signal from the hilltop where a sizable group of lancers were now standing. The chariots, which Kalen now recognised as some sort of sledges, began to descend the hill. There were three, each pulled by around six or eight snarling dogs. Amongst the spearmen, some elves called upon these sledges to come and be stuck on their comrades' bolts.

However, the sledges came to a halt at the bottom of the slope. The dogs pulling them didn't. It took Kalen a moment to recognise that the dogs had been let free and nearly twenty ravaging hounds were charging towards the dark elves. 'Aim for the dogs! Multiple fire!' Kalen shouted but the dogs had covered over half the distance already. Volleys of bolts were loosed, causing snow to explode around the snarling creatures. But the animals were white and a difficult target to hit. One or two beasts tumbled bleeding in the ground but the rest ran on madly.

In what seemed moments, the slavering beasts were in amongst the elves. One soldier dropped his crossbow as he lifted a growling dog from the ground as it bit deep into his arm. Coarse haired muscle slammed between the elves legs causing them to fall. An elf screamed as slavering teeth snapped against his exposed neck. The front rank fell apart as warriors frantically tried to kill the fast moving animals. A few dogs chased around the legs of the dark riders. The horse bucking as its rider attempted to pin the dog on his spear. The ranks of the square had been turned into chaos. One dog jumped up at Ambran's chest, knocking him over as he tried to keep the jaws away from his face. Kalen skewered the wriggling animal on his sword, but it took three slashes before the dog lay still. It was then that another sound of the Kislevite's horn sounded across the valley.

The lancers were charging down the hill. Kalen looked up to see the wave of cavalry crossing the ground, deadly lances bent forward. Firlaith, his own cavalry outnumbered four to one, sounded the retreat and Kalen watched as the riders scampered back across the bridge. The warriors were stranded. Kalen and Ambran vainly tried to get the elves into position even as the last of the dogs was put down with a squeal. But the lancers were already too close.

The visored horseman struck the front rank of the dark elves, buckling shields and spearing bodies. Their horses frothed and stamped as warriors fell under the thrashing hooves. The square fell apart and as individuals, the dark elves were cut down. Kalen ordered a hornblower to sound the rally around the standard but even as he took breath, the musician was struck in the throat by an arrow. Blood bubbled from his lips as he fell.

A rider trampled a crossbowman, the horses' hoof crushing his helmet and charged Kalen. Quickly he grabbed at the jabbing lance and pulled the rider from his saddle, hacking down with his sword as the man hit the ground. The horses were inside the crumbling square and most of the elves ran for the bridge, gleefully followed by the pursuing riders who swiped down on the elves' backs with broad bladed swords. Perhaps only thirty elves remained around the standard, arrows flicking against the banners black sheath.

Kalen picked up a blood-splattered uraithen, unleashing its full volley into a horses' chest. The horse crashed into the ground, shattering the legs of the rider beneath it. A lancer that had been dismounted drove a lance into the body of a dark elf before being gutted himself by a vengeful drannach. The cries of man and elf filled the valley.

The fleeing Druchii were bottle necked at the entrance to the bridge; the Kislevites hacked at the edges of the crowd with their swords. Some of the elves tried to run across the ice and they were lost where the ice had split, swept underneath by the freezing currents.

Kalen saw Ambran and some warriors attempting a more orderly retreat from the field that had turned into blood soaked terror. 'Follow me!' he ordered the standard bearer and they made there way across to the retreating party. The horse archers must have closed for arrows were suddenly being sent with terrible accuracy into the dark elves. One of the arrows struck the standard bearer in the eye-slits of his helmet and the elf span around into the snow. Kalen ran back, picked up the standard and continued. He had only run a few paces when he heard the sound of hooves behind him. Turning, he faced a lancer, the faceless visor of the rider and steaming head of the horse bearing down upon him.

Kalen stood his ground, he wanted to run, but that would mean death. He lowered the standard horizontally and pushed it towards the cantering hooves of the horse. Its legs cracked against the wood, snapping the crossbeam and causing the beast to stumble. The horse was so close it fell into Kalen, shoving him back as the rider was thrown forwards on top of him. Kalen recovered first, driving his gauntlet into the northern man's face until the skull split. Unsteadily he stood, the sounds of screams in his ears.

'Kalen!' Kalen heard Ambran's voice above the cacophony. Tearing off his gore-splattered helmet, he saw the young lieutenant alerting him to the danger. Turning his head, he saw the bulk of the lancer too late. The slim lance pierced his armour below the ribs and Kalen was shoved off his feet once more. The rider passed him by only to be pin-cushioned by uraithen fire. Kalen looked up dreamily at the tall shaft of the lance that stuck up from his body like a flagstaff. He felt his warm blood coat his cold skin beneath his tunic. Gently, he closed his eyes, dying with the sounds that all soldiers should hear upon their death. The sounds of battle.

Louis Verlaine 


	6. Chapter 6

KALEN

**XIII**

'Does it understand?' Dark elf Duke Kurl Vraneth asked the Beastmaster who secured the leather bag to the leg of the Harpy. They were standing on the frozen dock of the Norscan town. A cold blast of wind stung their faces as they looked out to the Black Ark, itself frozen solid in the ice.

'I don't understand, your grace?' The Beastmaster asked him.

'Well, if you don't understand how in the name of Khaine's testes is that blasted thing going to?' Vraneth snarled.

'No, I meant-' The beastmaster attempted to placate his commander.

'Just send the stupid beast on its way, damn you!' Vraneth grumbled. The harpy, its grey leathery wings spanning out from a rough-skinned feminine body, shuffled around on the ground as if anxious to be away from its elven masters. It would seek out a dark elf ship in the Sea of Claws or, failing that, their message of help would sink beneath the turbulent waters along with the frozen beast. Vraneth watched until the harpy was a black dot flying out between the main masts of the Black Ark and then turned back to the town.

As Vraneth trod through the thin snow, he walked through a town that feared its extinction was near. This was a besieged town. Only the besiegers hadn't turned up yet. But their very threat made man and elf alike fear that their lives would end in this barren and desolate place next to a frozen ocean. And with the Ark now gripped tightly by the ice, their chance of escape was hopeless. Even if the harpy's message reached Druchii hands, it would take many days and by then there was a good chance they could be overrun. Lord Harkan had led the Druchii army here with the opinion that the Kislevite invaders could be shrugged aside as they attempted to exterminate the Norse raiders. The Kislevites had other ideas. Not only had the dark elves been bested on the field, the terrain was wholly unsuitable to the Norscan's allies. After several bloody noses, the dark elves had ignominiously barricaded themselves behind the walls of the very people they had come to help.

To the proud nature of an elf, the situation was unbearable; as Vraneth crossed the few streets of the town in full armour he would be more than glad to spill the blood of those impertinent humans. But he knew such thoughts, however pleasing they might be, were fruitless. The Kislevites seemed at home in this country and any of the garrison that left the town's hastily assembled walls were ambushed and brutally slaughtered. So there was nothing left but to wait for the invaders to come.

'Duke Vraneth, a word if I may, sir.' A Dark elf Lordling called to him as he crossed to the Norse Chieftain's hall.

'What is it?' Vraneth spat, noticing a scruffy Norse walking behind the Lieutenant. Although the idea of a smart Norscan was laughable, Vraneth thought.

'This human says a Cold One of ours ate one of his sheep.' The Norscan behind the Lieutenant raised his chin, though he understood none of the words spoken.

Vraneth stared at him, then back to the Lieutenant, 'So? Its probably the first damn thing those lizards have killed since they got to this stinking place!' The icy temperatures had had the effect of dulling the senses of the reptile steeds and they were proving nearly impossible to rouse.

'Well, quite, sir.' The Lieutenant coughed, 'But you see he would like some compensation.'

Vraneth sighed, 'It's perfectly simple Lieutenant. Take this good fellow round the back of a building, stick a blade in his guts, sell off his stock to his nearest rival and keep whatever you get for them.'

Vraneth gave the Norscan a smile. The farmer smiled back, interpreting the grin as a sign things were going well. The Lieutenant was not smiling, 'Erm…very good, sir.' He turned back to the farmer, 'Come this way?' They moved off, the farmer giving Vraneth a quick bow of appreciation.

'Bloody farmers.' Vraneth grumbled, mounting the steps into the Chieftains hall.

Inside it was warm, but the wet straw of the ceiling made the air damp and Vraneth wrinkled his nose as he removed his helmet. Two Norscan Hurscarls stood rigidly with their round shields and axes to their bodies and Vraneth passed them without a glance. He barged open the door to a room, meeting the eyes of the witch elf Hecate to whom he grunted some kind of greeting. A Lieutenant was in the room too. And so was Duke Kalen, or at least his body was, lying still on a mattress of straw and goatskin.

Kalen was in another place. His mind drifted back over the oceans of ice and water back to the Land of Chill. It drifted back over years too, until it arrived near the lakes of Abyiss several decades past. Kalen smelt the cool dewy air of his birthplace. He felt the clinging mud near the edge of the water. He saw the ghostly mist wading across the sharp rocks. He was so much younger. He was a child. That thought made him scared. For childhood brought memories of terror.

He ran from the lake, his naked feet clambering over the hard stone of the bank. His eyes jerking from side to side, seeing his killers in the mist. The sound of hooves clattering over hard ground filled the his world. Quickly he hid behind some rocks. His half-elf heart beat irregularly, almost as if his genes were finding difficulty in getting used to the freakish nature of his body.

And then he caught sight of the Dark riders. Mounted on black steeds and swathed in cloaks the colour of a stormy sky. He couldn't see their faces beneath their hoods, only the sharp points of their murderous spears. His limbs felt so frail as they gripped the rock face tightly hoping not to be seen by these killers his own father had sent after him. They didn't see him. They carried on, searching down near the lake, their horses snorting as if sniffing for his scent.

Kalen moved carefully up the rock face until he was at its summit. The wind blew at his greasy hair, blowing the scent of the Black forest against his skin. He looked out over the Lakes of Abyiss. His father's realm. And should he live, one day his own. In the distance, he could make out the spires of Hag Graef; dark bony structures reaching out from its valleys like a monster ascending from the underworld. His young mind could not fathom this world he had been born into. His first thoughts had been fear and he had little of any other kind since. Even so, something deep inside him was determined to make this land his home. He hated it nearly as much as it hated him, but that only made him more determined.

He heard a sound behind him. A pebble, dislodged. By the time he turned the Bloodshade was already lunging with the dagger. Those same merciless eyes, the pale, aquiline face, the alien ear lobes. Dark Elf. He hardly felt the blade, only the feeling of falling backwards. The world turned flat as the sky ran away from him. Falling farther, wind against his neck. And then the cold embrace of water, sinking into the depths of the lake. He watched as his blood drifted to the surface in an inky cloud of red. He felt his body descend deeper into the murky gloom. It was relaxing. He would welcome this world. So much more peaceful than the one above the surface. But in order to stay he would have to relinquish life. A part of him wanted to, but it was a small part. His heart craved life and his mind would not allow him to be so easily extinguished from it. He must fight. This was the world he was born into and in order to stay alive he must fight. Strength came to his arms and, ignoring the pain, he swam desperately to the surface…

Kalen opened his eyes and mouth at the same time, taking in a breath as if it was his first. His vision moved from the ceiling of the room down to three figures that stood watching him. In the morning light, their names came back: Hecate, Ambran, Vraneth. He swilled the names around his head as if welcoming back once familiar tastes. Ambran asked how he was. Vraneth grinned; telling him there was work to do. Hecate simply pouted, but there was relief there too. Kalen was alive. Once again this world had tried to kill him and it had failed. He smiled back at the three elves.

**XIV**

'They'll come again today.' Lieutenant Ambran told Kalen as they stood against the makeshift battlements surrounding the town. 'It has been the same for four days now, always small cavalry detachments keeping us on our toes. They won't let us rest, sir.' Ambran spoke heavily. Nearby some warriors were bolstering the walls with wood, stone and other junk scavenged from the town. Kalen recognised Avaris and Rath there, the two soldiers he had freed from execution. According to Ambran the pair had returned the favour by dragging Kalen's wounded body and their regimental standard from the battlefield. Avaris raised a salute and went on working.

'What's our numbers?' Kalen asked Ambran, turning his back on the desolate landscape outside to the town itself. A few of the crumbling buildings had smoke rising from their chimneys and the paths between them were trodden down with dirt. In the background the Black Ark rose on the skyline, pinned to this place by ice.

Ambran sighed, 'After the battle at the bridge we had to fall back to the main column. They followed us there, but we didn't expect them to manoeuvre inland. We lost two whole regiments. If Lord Harkan hadn't left most of the artillery inside the town we might have lost them too.'

Kalen snorted but said nothing. They also might have helped, he thought instead.

'It has been mainly skirmishes since. But every time they seem to outwit us and our numbers grow smaller. Herald Firlaith thinks there is a spy in the town and has started executing Norscans.' Ambran said apparently without feeling.

Kalen sighed, shaking his head, 'Firlaith seems determined to make this campaign a war on two fronts then.'

'Most of the Norscans are still with us, I think.' Ambran said in consolation. 'Where is Firlaith?' 

'He should be at the gate on the north side, briefing this morning's reconnaissance squadron, sir.' Ambran said formally, knowing the confrontation Kalen wished and wanting to distance himself from it. Kalen made to climb from the wall, wincing in pain as he did so. 'Maybe you should rest-' Ambran said but a fierce look from Kalen silenced him.

Kalen found Firlaith where Ambran said he would be. He was standing on some sort of lectern reading out orders to a dirty looking group of Dark Riders. Firlaith saw Kalen from the side of his eye and immediately stopped speaking. His mouth opened again once Kalen had stepped up onto the podium and then made a choking sound as Kalen grabbed him by the throat.

'Why didn't you support us?' Kalen snarled, 'Let me hear the words from your slimy lips before I put my fist between them!'

'I must protest!' Firlaith managed, his eyes twitching to the group of cavalry.

Kalen twisted him around, forcing him over the lectern and pressing his neck against it forcefully. 'My soldiers died because your riders ran away, Firlaith! Why?' he spat.

'I am second in command of this outpost and I order you-' Firlaith gurgled. Kalen heard the oiled spring lock on uraithen and looked up to see that though the rest of the Dark riders were watching in surprise, two had cocked their crossbows. Kalen looked down again at his commander, it would only take a moment to crush his windpipe he thought with delight. But that would mean his mission for the Temple would be at an end, and he was warming to the task of murdering Lord Harkan.

Kalen relaxed his grip and backed away. Firlaith spluttered, rubbing his throat, 'Lord Harkan will hear of this Duke and I'll have your head!' Redness blossomed on his scrawny cheeks.

'Very well. You do just that. But you haven't many officers left and when the humans come to wipe out you're so called 'outpost', they'll have your head too.' Kalen said quietly. 'So you better hurry.' Kalen stepped back beckoning Firlaith to run to Harkan's lodgings. To his surprise Firlaith did just that, glancing back to give him a malicious glare.

Kalen watched him go. This was going to be a risk. He looked at the Riders who watched him silently.

Great coats of bearskin had been placed over the windows, so that the only light came from the dying remnants of the hearth. Lord Harkan sat pondering in a heavy wooden chair, his armour laid at his side. He looked worried, but it had nothing to do with the imminent siege by the Kislevites. Harkan had his mind on more otherworldly matters. He watched the sorceress Sastriss etch a circle into the mud floor of the hut. 'Are we far north enough for this to work?' He asked gruffly. He had planned to do this further north of the Norscan town, but the resilience of the Kislevites had meant that he would have to carry it out here. It also meant that time was of the essence.

Sastriss reared up her pale and sinewy body, 'The ear of Shornaal hears all, my Lord.' She smiled, licking her lips.

'Quite.' Harkan grunted. He watched as Sastriss began chanting archaic wards to protect them. Her dark hair and supple shoulders glowed in the firelight and Harkan's dark desires began to stir as he thought about ripping into that flesh.

Suddenly, light poured into the room as Firlaith came hurrying in from outside, 'My Lord-'

'Close the door, damn you!' Harkan bellowed.

Firlaith looked at the baneful stares of both Lord and sorceress, before closing the door, wondering if he should really be on the other side. He walked quietly over to Harkan whilst the sorceress continued. 'My Lord, if I may?'

'Yes, Firlaith, what is it?' sighed Harkan.

'Its Duke Kalen, my Lord-'

'He's alive? I thought that worm died at the bridge?'

'Er, no. It seems he wasn't as badly wounded as we had hoped.' Firlaith explained in whispered tones, 'Anyway, I recommend we execute him as soon as possible.'

'For what reason; officially?'

'For insubordination!' Firlaith hissed. 'He has just had the audacity to-'

'Bring in the girl.' Harkan commanded, ignoring Firlaith. An inner door opened and a warrior pushed forward a young Norse girl. Harkan stood, casting an admiring eye over the female's bony frame that had been covered in strange markings. 'You are honoured young human. Step into the circle and allow us to please you.'

The girl was pushed into the circle Sastriss had scratched. The sorceress began chanting once more, only now with more intensity and pouring a small vial of liquid around the perimeter of the circle.

Harkan watched in anticipation. Firlaith shrank back behind Harkan's chair, his complaint forgotten as he watched. Gently at first, small wisps, like purple tendrils appeared around the girls shaking legs. She watched them in frightened fascination as they curled around her, slowly rising up to her thighs. Sastriss kept up her constant chanting as if seducing the bizarre mist up from the ground. The smoky fingers reached the girls face, lightly brushing her cheek. As Harkan licked his lips, the girl appeared to panic. She stepped forward to cross the circle. An unseen force dragged her back and she screamed amidst the flurry of smoke. It resembeled a vibrant tornado turning a darker purple, then a lighter pink before descending into blood red.

The girl had stopped screaming. Beneath the sheath of colour Harkan saw the girls limbs were already cracking into a different shape. Her breasts becoming paler almost white and more pronounced. Luscious bloated veins circled her neck and into the skull as the hair was shed, becoming more cone like. What was once a girl's body twisted as bones were extended and flesh stretched.

Harkan smiled, this would do nicely. The eyes of the daemonette flashed open.

**XV**

The night came unnaturally early to the northern lands and the snow of Norsca was soon shadowed by a night that could bring death to the small garrison of the town. Although there had been few sightings of Kislevites during the daylight hours, it gave the elves no hope, for the night was the time when these crafty humans would attack.

The morale of the troops had not been aided by the reclusion of their general, Lord Harkan. It was said he had retired to the marooned Black Ark and Harkan's bodyguard had kept away interested parties. Herald Firlaith was similarly absent and whilst his Dark riders lazed around, murmurings began that the two officers had fled.

As the fitful night drew to an end and dawn approached, elves were demanding explanations of Duke Kalen. Most of them begrudged having to defer to a half-elf officer and thus their enquires were less than mild. Kalen ordered them back to their posts but he could feel a simmering resentment that could boil over into mutiny at any point. Kalen walked back inside his own hut.

'Should have let my knights loose on them.' Vraneth said, idly picking at a plate of vegetables that served as breakfast, 'That would have settled their impudence sharpish!'

Kalen ignored the armoured Duke and instead motioned to the warrior Avaris, 'Avaris, send word to Hecate that I wish to see her.'

Avaris eyes twitched, 'The Witch elf, Hecate, sir?'

'Do you know another?' Kalen spat.

'No sir, yes sir, erm, may I take Rath with me for erm…'

Kalen looked at the other warrior who as usual stood silent and expressionless, 'For protection?'

'Well…' Avaris again looked uncomfortable.

'Good plan. Do it.' Kalen ordered and the two reluctant warriors left leaving Kalen and Vraneth alone in the glow of the hearth.

'Harkan hasn't run.' Vraneth said once the warriors had left, 'He might be cowering in the depths of the Ark but the bastard wouldn't have left.'

Kalen sat down heavily on a chair opposite, from the window the blue light granted by the moments just before dawn seeped through the frosted glass. 'I agree. He's got too much interest here.'

'Really?' Vraneth reached for a gourd of wine, averting himself from Kalen's eyes.

Kalen wondered whether he could trust his old friend. As much as the next perfidious Druchii, he reasoned. The Witch King prided himself on the treacherous intrigue he and his mother Morathi could generate in their nobles and officers. But this place was far from the secure archways and spires of Naggarond and any elf that stood alone would perish. 'Harkan wants to start a civil war.'

Vraneth laughed, dribbling ruby droplets of wine that sizzled on the hearth tiles, 'That's absurd! He's a sack of harpy-dung but a usurper he is not. And why would he come all the way out to this wretched place?'

'He may have supporters, powerful supporters that are taking care of things back in Naggaroth.' Said Kalen. 'We're isolated out here, near to the Chaos lands, he might more easily find _allies_.'

Vraneth was suddenly serious, 'Look, you may be a bloody good fighter and there may even be the rudiments of elf nobility in that freak skull of yours, but you aren't the conspirator type. We are soldiers, we fight, we kill, we die. That's it. Stay out of this.'

Kalen suddenly realised why Vraneth had constantly been overlooked with regards to command. He was quite possibly the last honourable Dark elf. He fought and killed his king's enemies and looked no further than that. His reluctance to betray his betters meant that as a consequence he was the least favoured noble. With the possible exception of Duke Kalen himself. 'I must stop him. Kill him. Will you help?'

Vraneth stared wide-eyed, 'Kill Lord Harkan? This cold must have frozen your brain!'

'I promise you it must be done. The threat is very real.'

The door scraped open and Kalen looked up expectantly only to see Avaris standing alone. 'Sir, the lady Hecate is not in her lodgings. One of the maibd told me that she was sent for by Lord Harkan just after sunset and has not returned.'

Kalen looked to Vraneth immediately, 'Kurl, I need you. Will you follow?'

Vraneth chewed his lip before throwing his wine into the fire, 'Why not?' He sighed, 'If the humans won't come to my lance then chaos droppings are always willing to sacrifice themselves!'

They left, leaving the wine sizzling on the hearth like boiling blood.

Out over the frozen docks, small bonfires illuminated the base of the Ark. Kalen, Vraneth and Avaris stared from the quay, momentarily wondering how this treachery would play out. For a moment Kalen feared Harkan had had word of their intent as soldiers began to cross the ice from the Arks hull.

The shadows of corsairs came running over the thick ice towards the town. At their head he recognised Crassfile, Admiral Thorn's officer whom he had met briefly on the voyage here. The dark-skinned elf raised a hand and the scar across his lips warped the grin he granted Kalen. 'Lord Harkan has had word that the humans are here to be sliced on our blades!' Crassfile called to them. The corsairs, clad in their shimmering dragon cloaks marched into the town.

'This business with Harkan must wait,' Vraneth said to Kalen, 'I need to be blooded.'

'We finish this afterwards then.' Kalen spat as Vraneth hurried away.

'It's true sir, look.' Avaris pointed to the hills that could be seen around the town. In the grim dawn light, the humans had appeared en masse. The Kislevites were chanting across the landscape, their beasts howling and the air seemed filled with a portent of doom for the garrison. Infantry, cavalry, beasts, artillery and perhaps even magic were massed against them.

Kalen looked back to the Ark, ominous by its silence. Vraneth was right, this had to wait. His first priority was as a soldier and he had enemies of the Witch King to kill. But still, Kalen felt a shadow across his heart when he thought about Harkan's motives, something was wrong and Hecate seemed to be involved in some way.

Retracing his steps back through the town, Kalen noticed several Norse women hurrying their children inside their buildings and closing the doors in the vain hope it would be enough against the Kislevites. He doubted it. If the defenders failed, the town and its people would be forfeit. For the first time, Kalen felt a purpose for being here. Perhaps it was his weak-hearted human side, but it filled him with a determination to see off this enemy.

As he reached the North gate he saw Witch elves begin to work themselves up into frenzy. Other Druchii sensibly kept away from them, though some Norse warriors were gaping at the semi-nude warrior women as they twitched with the destructive potions in their bodies. Crassfile was already barking out his orders to the murderous corsairs, a few of them taking practice swings of their short axes. Crates of uraithen bolts were being hauled by shivering slaves, positioned behind the ranks of warriors that lined the short walls.

'Your armour, sir.' Avaris announced as he and Rath brought up the gleaming metallic. Kalen looked at it, he knew the siege would be short and bloody and he felt the rising tide of slaughter that Khaine saw fit to grant even a freak such as he, blossom in his chest.

Horns brayed, Cold Ones growled and Dark elves cheered, for the enemy was here and they would bring him hell.


End file.
